


The Princess and the Savage

by Athenyx



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2018-06-04 16:53:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 74,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6666652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athenyx/pseuds/Athenyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke/Lincoln. Reimagining of The 100 from S1E5. Lincoln has been watching Clarke from afar and rapidly becomes fascinated with the strong and compassionate leader. When she takes a tumble in the forest he leaps to her rescue, but now he has her he's not about to let her go. Intense/Possessive Lincoln. Besotted Finn. Non-canon couples. Some OOC behaviour. Drama/Romance/Adventure.</p><p>(Already on fanfiction, but I've been having trouble uploading the last few times I tried so I thought I'd bring it over here too, just in case!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the characters, events and world of The 100 - that honour goes to Kass Morgan and the writers for the (amazing) TV show. This story, though, is all mine baby!

A/N: This is my first real Fanfiction, so please be kind, and reviews are very welcome! Everything’s canon until ep.5 when this story begins. Lincoln has been watching the camp and is fascinated with Clarke not Octavia – he’s also a more feral/savage grounder. The story will have some elements of the original TV series, and some of my own making due to my diversion away from the plot we all know (and love). 

 

Chapter one

Clarke

Clarke increased her pace, consciously making an effort to get as far away from Finn and his girlfriend as her tired legs could carry her. The rest of the search party were busy arguing over who had the unenviable task of drying out the sopping wet radio, while Raven excitedly explained how they could set off rockets using engine oil from the dropship. 

Clarke wanted to hate the beautiful brunette on sight – and she tried to, she really did – but it wasn’t Raven’s fault her boyfriend was a cheater. She seemed like the kind of person Clarke would undoubtedly like and respect, if the circumstances were better. It wasn’t in Clarke’s nature to hate someone for something they had no control over – she’d learnt that lesson fully with Wells. 

Bellamy had just started organising people for the trek back to camp when she’d taken advantage of the momentary flurry of activity to slip away unnoticed. Or so she thought.

“Clarke,” Finn called from behind her, “Clarke, wait!”

Clarke didn’t bother turning around, feeling her cheeks redden with the emotions he was invoking. Anger – lots of anger – but it was covering the hurt she couldn’t seem to help. She heard his footsteps break into a jog and suddenly he was grasping her elbow, pulling her to a stop.

“Clarke, please, I can explain.” Finn tightened his grip on her arm, his dark eyes beseeching.

Clarke ripped her arm from him violently. “There’s nothing to explain, remember – I was passably cute, we had fun, end of story.”

“You know that’s not the truth,” he bit out, “I thought I would never see her again…I thought everyone on the Ark was dead to us…”

He ran his hands through his long hair in frustration.

“You told me they were dead to us!” he spat angrily.

“Oh, so it’s my fault you cheated?” she asked, incredulous.

“No, that’s not what I meant! I…”

“Sure sounds like it, Finn,” she almost laughed, “Look, I don’t see what else there is to say – I made a mistake, I’m over it, now you need to get over it.”

“You’re not over it. I’m not going to get over it.” He reached up to touch her cheek and she stepped out of his reach.

He sighed and she felt her anger blossom again. Finn had no right to act like the victim – he’d made the situation what it was. She hadn’t told him they were a lost cause – he’d given up hope too early. She glanced behind him and saw Raven standing at the edge of the clearing, watching them curiously. She felt an uncomfortable pang of sympathy for the other girl.

“You need to stay away from me,” Clarke whispered through gritted teeth, “You have a girlfriend you love, who loves you. There’s nothing here for you anymore.”

She turned and walked away, but not before she heard him whisper, “There is, there’s you.”

It took a while for her to feel rational again, which in itself was unsettling – Clarke wasn’t usually so hot headed. She guessed that this was what it felt like to care for someone and find yourself disappointed. Again. She knew her response to Finn’s betrayal was an overreaction, but it felt like she’d hit the edge of her tolerance level.

Clarke took a few calming breaths and started paying attention to her surroundings – the last thing she needed was a spear to the gut. The forest floor in front of her was softly littered with moss and flowers, and it was everything she’d ever dreamed of – but right now she wasn’t in the mood to enjoy it, and that wasn’t like her either. As serious as she could be, Clarke was an artist at heart, and every artist appreciated beauty. She’d thought Finn beautiful too, she reminded herself. Beautiful and treacherous apparently. 

The whooshing sound of something large dropping from a tree made her freeze in the open, at the top of a high incline. She was halfway between the clearing and camp, and she didn’t think anyone had followed her route. She glanced around, eyeing the trees as though she expected camouflaged monkeys to leap at her claws first. God, monkeys – even they reminded her of Finn! 

She shook her head and started to climb over a fallen tree in her path when a distinct snap had her fumbling her feet. She tripped head first down the hill, only stopping when she collided painfully with a bush at the base and everything went black.

Octavia

Octavia watched the search party return to camp from Jasper’s side at the fire. He’d started looking a bit peaky so she’d insisted he stay there for warmth – they’d been trading funny stories back and forth all morning – his about Monty and hers inevitably about Bellamy. Nearly all of her stories involved Bellamy – hard not to when you’ve been confined to one room for most of your life. 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Bellamy stopped at the edge of camp and sent her a hesitant smile. She wanted to ignore him, still angry over their words earlier, but she knew her brother, and she knew he needed the reassurance that everything would be okay. Unfeeling he was not – much as he liked to pretend otherwise.

She smiled back just as tentatively and turned to watch the rest of the delinquents trail into camp. She eyed the new addition suspiciously before turning back to Jasper.

“Looks like the dropship only had one passenger – who do you reckon she is?”

Jasper smiled cheekily and watched the new girl as she started ordering people around. “Looks like Clarke 2.0 to me.”

Octavia watched the girl through narrowed eyes. They didn’t need another overbearing woman in this camp – Clarke was more than enough, but at least she had redeeming qualities. Like being the only medic they had. Like saving Jasper’s life.

The other kids started stacking scrap metal in two piles and Octavia figured she’d better find out what was happening. She looked for her brother and found him talking to Miller by the gate, alternately glaring at the new girl’s back and gesturing to the activities at the centre.

“Catch you later, Jasper.” She called. He mumbled a response and turned to chat to a fawning Harper.

She approached her brother at the same time new girl turned in their direction and threw a disgusted look at Bellamy.

“What’s that about?” she asked, glaring back protectively.

“Meet Raven, Finn’s girlfriend and our self appointed mechanical engineer. All hail, Raven.” He snarked.

Octavia hadn’t noticed Finn glued to the girl’s side, but now Bellamy called attention to it she gasped.

“Wait…I thought he and Clarke were, you know, together?” she asked confusedly.

“Spacewalker’s been playing the field – one in space and one on the ground. Gotta hand it to him, the boy definitely has a type.” Bellamy replied, laughing with Miller.

“Damn, how’s Clarke taking it?” Octavia would hate to be her right now. Actually, she’d hate to be Finn – angering two strong women? Not exactly smart.

“Princess stormed off earlier, so about as well as you can imagine.” Bellamy said dryly.

Octavia was just about to ask where the blonde leader had stormed off to when Raven approached.

“You’re used to manual labour, right Bellamy? A janitor if I remember rightly. Maybe you should lend us your expertise for these rocket launchers.” Raven taunted.

Octavia bristled. “Where do you get off talking to my brother like that?”

“Your brother is a murderer.” Raven hissed.

“The Chancellor is alive,” Bellamy retorted, “I’d appreciate it if you called me an attempted-murderer – it’s much more politically correct.”

Trust her brother to make a joke of this. Wait – the chancellor lived? She met Bellamy’s eyes and a look of relief passed between them. He might act the tough, uncaring brute to everyone else, but Octavia knew he wasn’t a bad person – not even in his darkest moments.

She turned to the angry girl and lifted her chin, hands on her hips in a defensive stance.

“Don’t be jealous, Raven,” she eyed Finn loitering behind her, “Just because the person who loves me knows the meaning of loyalty and sacrifice, doesn’t mean you get to take a piece out of him.”

Raven sent her a befuddled glare. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Finn shuffled nervously and sent Octavia a nervous look. “I didn’t see you around camp last night, Finn. Our illustrious leader was missing too. You know, the pretty blonde one?”

“Co-leader,” Bellamy grouched.

Raven looked like a balloon losing its hot air. “Finn? What’s she talking about?”

“Nothing,” Finn mumbled, “Come on Rae, we need to build the rockets.”

Octavia watched Finn lead her away. She should feel guilty, she supposed, but Raven was going to find out one way or another. There was no way Finn was over his feelings for Clarke, and a sense of feminine self-righteousness compelled her to take the annoying girl’s side.

“I don’t get it,” Miller mumbled, “How is he pulling the hottest girls at camp?”

Bellamy snorted in response.

She turned to the two boys. “Why are we building rockets?”

Bellamy heaved a deep sigh. “The Ark’s dying.”

“I know,” Octavia said, “And we care because?”

“Because they’re culling the population tonight,” Miller put in, “If we don’t let them know we’re alive down here, they’re killing 300 people to save oxygen for the rest of the population. Your brother here had the bright idea of destroying Raven’s radio so she can’t contact them.”

So that was the reason behind the animosity. Justified, maybe.

“You’re an idiot, Bell.” She said simply.

“I know,” he replied guiltily.

Octavia turned to the heaping structures being formed and decided to help – she might not have any warm and fuzzy feelings for the remaining Arkians, but she knew most of the 100 had parents up there and she was the only one lucky enough to have her family on the ground with her. 

Bellamy

Bellamy watched the rockets spiral out into the night – two hissing flares of orange set against an inky backdrop. He looked around for Clarke or Octavia, and when he didn’t see them he caught the eyes of the girl standing stoically across from him. It was Raven – winner of today’s Miss Self Righteous Award. She was on her own this time, her puppy dog Finn probably off chasing his next skirt. Bellamy didn’t know how the guy did it – if he wasn’t confident in his own appeal he might be asking for tips. Or not.

He looked back at the sky, seeing the bright lights begin to fade – praying, though he’d never been the type to pray before, that it made a difference. When he looked away again it was to find Raven standing next to him. He smiled at her awkwardly. 

“Do you think you can wish on this kind of shooting star?” she asked quietly.

Bellamy took a deep breath and shook his head. “I wouldn’t even know what to wish for.”

Suddenly the sky brightened further, and Bellamy looked up to see dozens of brief flashes winking in and out of existence like fireflies. It was beautiful and strange.

“We were too late.” Raven muttered, her voice full of sorrow.

Bellamy sent her an enquiring look and she gave him a lopsided smile, pointing to the spectacle. 

“That’s what 300 bodies look like when they hit Earth’s atmosphere.”

She walked away and Bellamy felt curiously numb. He’d done this, and he’d live with the consequences. Next time he’d do better. Or at least, he’d try to.

Clarke

Clarke woke up to the sight of brilliant glimmers of light streaming across the night sky. It was so dark she could only see shadows – strange elongated trees and the sloped mound of the hill she’d obviously rolled down.

She brought her hand shakily up to her aching head and it came away bloody. Oh God, she thought, this was not her day at all. The chances of the others finding her in the forest tonight were too slim to even consider.

She started to slowly rise and a sharp pain in her leg made her feel nauseous – it compounded the ache of her head and the edges of her sight flickered alarmingly. Before everything went dark she met the dark eyes of a man – a fierce looking warrior crouched down at her side. She’d been found alright, by the grounders.


	2. Taking the First Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the characters, events and world of The 100 – that honour goes to Kass Morgan and the writers for the (amazing) TV show. This story, though, is all mine baby!

Finn

Finn let the flap from the makeshift tent fall glumly back into place. It was the last one – he’d checked all of them thoroughly, annoying the hell out of half the occupants in the process, but he didn’t care. He’d searched the drop ship – he’d walked the wall – he’d even paced the outside perimeter in ever-increasing circles – nothing. No Clarke. Finn just couldn’t get rid of the ball of anxiety filling his gut. He didn’t know whether it was a side effect of the guilt that’d been plaguing him since Raven landed, or a signal something else was wrong. Something more.

He worked his way towards the fire and spotted Bellamy standing a little too close to Raven for his liking. He wouldn’t put it past the renowned womaniser to be making a play already.

“I can’t find Clarke – she’s missing.” He stated, raising his eyebrows in expectation. If it was Octavia, Finn knew Bellamy would turn the place upside down to find her.

To his surprise Bellamy laughed. “Maybe she doesn’t want you to find her, Spacewalker. Ever think of that?”

Bellamy rocked back on his heels, his arms crossed cockily. Finn scowled at him, feeling a tick in his jaw. “This is serious. I haven’t seen her since this morning.”

Bellamy shrugged his shoulders in response. “Like I said, Princess is probably avoiding you. Got a pretty good reason to from what I can see.” His eyes slid to Raven. Finn glanced her way, resisting the urge to rub his aching chest. She looked worried for him.

“Come on, Finn,” Raven reached for his hand and brushed her thumb over his palm, “Why don’t you show me where we’re staying? I’m sure Clarke’s fine.”

Finn pulled his hand away angrily and spoke through gritted teeth. “We should send out a search party. It’s dangerous out there – she can’t be wandering about alone with grounders…”

“Finn,” Bellamy interrupted sharply, losing all semblance of his cool. “Give the girl some space. Clarke can take care of herself – she’s not yours to worry about.”

Finn took a deep, calming breath and turned to Raven. Her face had taken on a wounded look and he immediately regretted pulling away from her. She’d come down here for him, and he’d been busy betraying her. Falling…God, falling in love with someone else. He felt pulled in two entirely separate directions and it was making him crazy.

“I’m sorry, Raven,” he looked at her through his hair, “I’m just tired.”

He reached out, half expecting her to snatch her hand away, and when she didn’t he let out a sigh of relief. He had a lot of apologising to do, and not just to Clarke.

Raven smiled at him reassuringly and ruffled the strands of his over-long hair. “You need a haircut.”

He grinned at her familiar affectionate tone. “I’m glad you offered.”

He led her towards his tent, glancing back and meeting Bellamy’s eyes for a scant second. They nodded at each other in understanding – if Clarke didn’t show her face by tomorrow then there was going be a problem.

……………………………………………………………………….

Clarke

Clarke woke suddenly, vague memories of a loud commotion startling her from slumber. She tried to sit up and winced. Her head throbbed in time with her heart beat and her leg was definitely injured. Everything came flooding back in a rush – the suspicious noise, the fall, and the grounder who found her. Her eyes darted around her surroundings, but she seemed to be alone.

She was underground, that much was obvious. Someone must have moved her and placed her here in the night. Several thick strands of early morning light bled through holes in the earth packed ceiling and illuminated the mottled tree roots sticking through the walls. Various implements were stacked on shelves carved out of the dirt and hanging from convenient branches. This was obviously somebody’s shelter, and she wasn’t dead yet so that had to mean something. She also wasn’t restrained.

Clarke shifted to a seated position and peered down at the gash in her leg – it was deep and she needed to tend to it to stop infection setting in. She wasn’t going anywhere just yet. Another clatter brought her attention to a narrow corridor off the room, and the large figure moving stealthily through the darkness towards her.

As the grounder approached Clarke felt a fluttering of nerves, but she didn’t bother looking for a weapon. If he had wanted her dead, she wouldn’t be breathing and cogitating right now. Common sense told her he wanted something from her and for that he needed Clarke alive. Instead she eyed him warily. 

He was an intimidating sight – his tall and muscular figure draped in dark clothing and furs and what looked distinctly like human finger bones. His dark eyes gleamed behind the menacing streaks of black face paint coating his tanned skin, and his skull was hair-free excepting a thick, short Mohawk strip down the centre. His expression was stoic – she couldn’t get a read on him at all.

He knelt before her and she belatedly noticed the knife in his hand. It gleamed with the heat from a recent fire. Without preamble, he clasped her ankle and placed the knife against her leg wound to cauterise it.

“Ouch,” Clarke gasped, blinking through her involuntary tears, “we need to work on your bedside manner.”

He met her eyes briefly and grunted. A few seconds later he removed the blade and rose to place it on the other side of the room. He returned to her with a roughly hewn bowl and gestured for her to take it. She did, realising he was offering her water.

She took a few tentative sips, then started gulping it down, surprised at how fresh and cool it tasted. The cave they were in had such an earthy, musty smell she almost expected it to taste the same. 

“Thank you,” she sent him a grateful smile.

He looked at her – really looked at her, seemingly searching her face for something. Perhaps reassured by her calm, he folded his large frame to the floor beside her. His knees softly knocked against her side and she felt heat rising to her cheeks. She nervously looked at the second bowl he held – it too had water, but was swamped by a clean rag.

“I can do that,” she said, reaching for the cloth. He held the bowl out of reach and shook his head – meeting her eyes with a fierce gaze. Clarke held still, feeling like her breath might stop at any second. He rung the cloth out and reached out to bathe the wound on her forehead. His touch was neither especially gentle nor insensitive, but very efficient. That was until he clasped her chin with his other hand and tilted her face towards the wall. He brushed away the straggly strands of blonde hair stuck to her skin and his fingers lingered.

She met his eyes and it abruptly felt decidedly intimate. He was so close – this grounder warrior who could have killed her ten times over in her weakened state. Clarke wasn’t defenceless, despite her small stature and compassionate nature, but she felt completely disarmed by him.

All they’d known of the grounders so far was pain and fear, but she knew that couldn’t be all there was. He was one of many, and she reminded herself they would all be individuals. Individuals she could try to communicate with – peace ever at the forefront of her mind.

When he paused his ministrations she slowly drew her face away, looking anywhere but in his direction. He made a disgruntled noise and rose, walking back down the tunnel without a word.

“Hey, wait!” she called, feeling unreasonably insecure, “Where are you going?”

He halted half way down the tunnel but didn’t face her. She thought he might turn around then, and come back to her. He didn’t. He disappeared, walking out of sight, but she could still hear him. Soft clatters and the sound of water being poured let her know he hadn’t gone far. He’d been deadly silent before, so she thought he might be purposely making the noise. It was both confusing and strangely comforting.

Clarke sighed. She examined her wound, softly feeling at the edges to make sure it would heal properly. When her grounder didn’t return she slowly rose to her knees, digging her finger nails into the soil wall to gain purchase. Once she was on her feet she tested her leg – she felt a sharp twinge, but it was more than manageable. She stumbled noisily in the direction he’d taken – a well worn curved path that led into a larger cavern.

He was sat on an earthen ledge before a fire, stirring something that smelt a little like mushrooms and the panther Wells had killed just days ago. A lot had happened since then – the responsibility she felt for the 100 constantly pressed down on her and sometimes she thought she might scream. She was amused to find relief was the undercurrent emotion fighting for dominance – for once, the only person she was looking out for was herself.

He didn’t acknowledge her presence so she took it as a sign she was free to wander. A rock wall, smooth from the passage of time, instantly held all of her attention. Somebody, possibly her grounder, had drawn the crashed drop ship using charcoal and some form of white paint. She ran her fingers over it, careful not to smudge the curved lines. The detailing was amazing and Clarke felt her lips lift into an involuntary smile.

“I’m an artist too,” she turned to find him studying her closely. His eyes were so dark and penetrating she shivered. She really should have been scared, or at least wary, but there was something about this grounder. Her grounder, as she’d unconsciously started referring to him.

Feeling brave, Clarke approached and knelt before him. “Why did you help me?” 

His expression seemed to intensify, if that was even possible. He was handsome, Clarke realised, in a very brutal way. The first man, besides Bellamy, she’d encountered on the ground. The rest of the male juveniles felt just that – juvenile. Though, in all honesty, Bellamy wasn’t much better at times.

He didn’t answer her, and she wondered if he understood what she was saying, or if he was reading her body language and analysing tone of voice. He looked away to fill a bowl with the broth and handed in to her without a word.

Clarke accepted the bowl with a smile. “I don’t know if you understand me, but thank you. Thank for for helping me. I know your people consider us enemies, but we don’t want that.”

His eyes softened almost imperceptibly, and he pointed his chin towards a nest of blankets across the room. Clarke took the hint and seated herself comfortably. His reactions could mean he understood her, but she couldn’t really be sure. Not until he was ready to tell her. Despite that, a kernel of hope wormed its way into her brain.

“I’m Clarke. Clarke Griffin,” she pointed at her chest, then pointed at him, “what are you called?”

He watched her with clear interest but didn’t reply. Clarke decided the only way they were going to get anywhere was if she talked – the more she talked, the more he might pick up on her intentions, and the easier they might find their way to a real conversation. 

She took a sip of the broth and hummed her approval. “This is good! Not many of us know anything about cooking, we’ve just been roasting everything until it’s almost black.”

He made a small grunt of acknowledgement. And so Clarke talked – she told him about the Ark, about them being prisoners and sent to earth as the last salvation for their people. She told him that she was joint leader with Bellamy and that they’d be getting worried soon – she was their only healer, you see, and they’d need her, even if they hated it. She needed to leave soon.

Gradually Clarke tired herself out talking and drifted off to sleep – through bleary eyes she felt him cover her up with another blanket. She smiled sleepily, and she could have sworn his severe face smiled back at her too.

……………………………………………………………………….

Bellamy

Bellamy had been supervising the construction of an expanded part of the wall when the first accident happened. This kind of thing was becoming common place – the delinquents were always eager when he called on them, but the eagerness made them clumsy.

“Shit, shit, shit!” The boy howled, clasping his bleeding hand. Bellamy thought his name might have been Geoff.

“Alright,” Bellamy sighed and raised his voice over Geoff’s pained moans, “Where’s Clarke? She can’t keep shirking her responsibilities, she’s our self-appointed medic.”

Miller, who had been working diligently at his side, looked up at his agitated tone and glanced around. “I haven’t seen her yet this morning, maybe she’s still sleeping?”

“Clarke’s always the first one up – all that Princess mojo makes her like a sprightly, highly-demanding fairy in the morning.” Bellamy responded dryly. 

“Clarke!” he yelled out, searching the camp, “Has anyone seen Clarke?”

A sea of blank faces stared back at him and no one offered up her location. The canvas door to Finn’s tent whipped back and he stormed out, Raven following at a slower pace. “She’s still not back?” he demanded.

Bellamy raised his eyebrows. Maybe Spacewalker hadn’t been simply behaving like a heart-sick idiot.

“Who was the last person to see Clarke?” he asked the delinquents, all of them having stopped what they were doing over the ruckus. Still no answers.

Geoff let out another moan and Bellamy scoffed in disgust. “It’s not that bad, man up.”

“No one has seen her since yesterday.” Finn growled angrily, “Do you need me to say…” 

“If you say ‘I told you so’ Geoff here won’t be the only one injured.” Bellamy interrupted.

“My name’s Jones.” The boy sniffled pathetically.

Bellamy sighed in disgust. “Alright, I need volunteers. Clarke’s missing and we’re sending out a search party. There are grounders out there, so don’t waste my time thinking this is going to be a space walk.” He eyed Finn, unsure if the peace-loving hippy knew how to properly defend himself.

Finn sent him a glare and walked off, presumably to gather supplies. Raven watched him go with eyes so sad Bellamy had to look away at the gathering crowd.

“I’m in,” Jasper spoke up, “Clarke saved my life – I owe her.”

The sentiment was echoed by Monty and Miller and just as Bellamy started shaking his head, Octavia piped up with her, “Me too.”

“Absolutely not.” Bellamy snapped.

Octavia sent him a foul look. “You can’t control me, big brother. Clarke would do it for me.”

She had a point, but Bellamy found it hard to be rational where his sister’s safety was concerned.

“Finn’s going to be enough of a liability,” he argued, “I can’t watch out for you and keep him in line at the same time.”

Octavia shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t need you to look after me, I can look after myself.”

She had that stubborn set to her chin that signalled complete defiance. If Bellamy kept on in this vein she’d probably go searching for the Princess on her own.

“Fine,” he spat, “but you don’t leave my side.”

Octavia raised her eyebrows and snorted under her breath.

Several others stepped forward to volunteer and Bellamy sent them nods of respect. Clarke wasn’t just their medic; she was his co-leader. As much as they listened to Bellamy, he thought they really listened to her more. She was born to be a leader; he just stole the role at his first opportunity.

He turned back to the original few who’d responded and crossed his arms over his chest. They were close to Clarke, so they weren’t going to like what he had to say.

“I need you two to stay here,” he nodded at Monty and Miller.

When they started to protest he spoke over them. “Miller, I need you in charge while I’m gone.” Miller nodded his reluctant assent. “Monty, I need you and Raven to fix the radio.”

Raven started in surprise.

He met her eyes. “I know you don’t like me, but I’m not a murderer. Not when I can help it.”

Raven rolled her eyes at him. “It’s not as easy as that – I’m missing parts.”

“Monty will help you find what you need.” He turned to Miller, “We’ll be back as soon as we can – no one leaves camp.”

“You got it, boss.” Miller joked, but his eyes were serious when he met Bellamy’s.

“Get your weapons,” Bellamy spoke to the volunteers, “You’re going to need them.”


	3. The Hunted and the Hunter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the characters, events and world of The 100 – that honour goes to Kass Morgan and the writers for the (amazing) TV show. This story, though, is all mine baby!

Bellamy

If Bellamy was honest, leaving Finn behind would have been the smarter plan. The other boy was behaving a tad erratically – muttering to himself and running off in random directions like he’d just been set loose from the asylum. Something about the little blonde leader clearly sent him off the rails. But he was also apparently the only one who’d paid any actual attention to Earth Skills back on the Ark, and consequently the best tracker they had.

“Is it me, or is the forest floor morphing into quicksand?” Jasper muttered.

“It’s just you, buddy.” Octavia laughed. 

“We’ve been walking half the day,” Jasper moaned, “Maybe Finn’s wrong and we’re following another two-headed deer.”

“Pretty hard to mistake Clarke for a deer, two-headed or no.” Bellamy scratched his brow. 

“Over here,” Finn exclaimed excitedly from the top of the rise they’d been climbing, “she must have fallen.” 

Finn took off down the slope before Bellamy could reach him. He jogged to catch up, carefully sliding down the loose rubble – restraining the urge to throttle the crouched boy.

“Finn, man, you’ve got to stop running off.” Bellamy warned. The rest of their search party huffed and puffed at his back in agreement. Jasper even slumped to the fern-swamped ground with a look of pure relief.

“Blood,” Finn whispered harshly, oblivious to the annoyance of his companions. His fingers scraped at a dark, congealed stain on a large rock. “She was here – someone carried her away. I’ve got her now.”

Finn looked up at Bellamy with a new gleam in his eye. “Let’s go.”

Bellamy watched him run off through the trees with exasperation. “Alright everyone, looks like our hound has caught the scent.”

Mbege and Roma snorted with mirth, but eagerly followed when he started up a fast pace after Spacewalker. Jasper groaned and rose, stumbling after them.

They’d been walking for another twenty minutes or so, glimpsing Finn at intervals ahead, when Roma snagged his elbow, pulling him to a halt. “Oh God,” she screeched.

Bellamy shook her off, his ears ringing. “Thanks for that.”

Finn stood waiting for them, staring warily into the trees. At least he finally seemed to be coming to his senses. 

“I don’t speak Grounder,” Finn said seriously, “but I think this means ‘Keep Out’.”

The path ahead was a mass of impaled corpses. They rose up from the ground on crooked blood-stained stakes as a warning – it was gruesomely effective. And a clear indication of grounder territory – they’d hit a border and nothing but trouble lay beyond it. 

Bellamy would be lying if he said there wasn’t a certain amount of hesitation hitting him right now, but he was committed to finding Clarke. He knew they had to stick together if they were going to survive down here. He was also pretty certain, if the purposeful flash in Octavia’s eye was to be interpreted, that his baby sister would still go on, even if he headed back.

“No way I’m going through there,” someone exclaimed.

“Fuck this, let’s go back,” said another.

Bellamy examined the rag tag band who’d been diligently following his orders, and felt absurdly worried. It was no new thing for him, having felt deeply responsible for Octavia since her birth. But these kids were so young, and they looked up to him and Clarke. They might even follow him blindly – they had at first, when he’d expounded chaos instead of peace.

He cleared his throat. “If anyone wants to turn tail, now’s the time. There’s no shame in being afraid.”

Several teens separated from the group and silently headed back the way they’d come. Bellamy met the eyes of everyone left – Octavia, who smirked at him; Jasper, Mbege, Roma, Diggs and Monroe. And Finn, who looked more determined than ever.

“Right – weapons at the ready. You see something move and it’s not Princess, attack first, ask questions later.”

“Great advice, Bell.” Octavia scoffed.

“If it keeps us alive, then hell yeah it’s great advice.” He retorted.

He turned to Octavia when she went to walk past him and lightly grabbed her arm. “Don’t leave my sight.”

She nodded and Bellamy chose to ignore the accompanying eye roll. He clasped his makeshift knife with a sweaty palm. There was no backing out now.

“Let’s do this!” Jasper surged after Finn.

 

Raven

Raven kicked the side of the dropship and only succeeded in stumping her big toe. The transmitter was a complete loss. The only task she’d been given so far and she was epically failing. She felt like she’d done nothing but fail since she’d come down here. Circumstances outside of her control were a real bitch sometimes.

Frustration bubbled up her throat and she swore. “God damn it, does nothing on Earth work?!”

“Your temper sure does.”

She turned around to eye the boy who’d been keeping the delinquents in line in the absence of both leaders. He slouched against the wall watching her, his dark beany hat pulled low and a silly grin on his face.

“Miller, right?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he smirked.

Raven laughed dryly. “Call me ma’am again and I’ll show you just how well my temper works in a physical context.”

“Did you just say you want to get physical with me?” he asked with a straight face.

Raven sent him a miffed look and turned to her work space – inspecting the mess of wires before her. Even with her back turned she could sense he was still there – probably waiting for another freak out.

“Don’t suppose there’s a supply depot around here I can get some new parts?” she queried – her voice dripping with forced calm.

“No such luck,” Miller replied.

“Just as I thought.” She threw down her tools.

Miller approached and started fiddling with the discarded and broken components littering the crude table surface. 

“Where’s Monty?” he asked.

“Made a break for it.” Raven snarked.

“He’s good,” Miller casually ignored her sarcasm, “Clarke had him modifying wrist bands when we first got down here, to try and contact the Ark. It didn’t work, but at least he tried.”

Raven sighed. “I am trying.”

“You clearly know what you’re doing with this stuff,” Miller continued, “Bellamy wouldn’t have given you the task if he didn’t think you were up to it. Clarke would have done the same thing.”

Raven leant back and observed him – her thoughts whirring. “Why do you trust them to lead you?”

Miller frowned. “Bellamy and Clarke?”

“Yes Bellamy and Clarke.” She rolled her eyes.

Miller crossed his arms and cracked a grin. “When we first got down here it was crazy – nobody wanted to be anything but uninhibited and reckless. What happens, I guess, when you send 100 delinquent prisoners down to Earth with no adult supervision.”

He shrugged and Raven nodded for him to continue. She was curious – not just at how the rebel became the leader, but about Clarke too. Not that she wanted to admit that to anyone.

“Bellamy encouraged it, at first, and I guess that got him a lot of respect. That – and the fact he’s just got that authority vibe, you know? You listen when he talks. Clarke’s the same, but when the two of them talk over each other, he seems to win. Maybe it’s because he’s older, I dunno. But people trust him. I trust him.”

Raven snorted. “Sounds like a dictator to me.”

“But a commoner. Clarke tried to unite us, but no one would take her seriously – her being from Phoenix and all,” Miller smiled faintly, “It wasn’t until we found out about the grounders that Bellamy realised she’d had the right idea all along. He started getting us organised – said we didn’t need the Ark, just each other. Then there was the trouble with Murphy.”

“Murphy?” she asked, confused.

“Yeah, you didn’t have the pleasure. In short – Jaha Jnr was killed by a kid named Charlotte. Clarke accused Murphy, which wasn’t that out of bounds, and then everyone bandied together to float him. Charlotte fessed up and Murphy was saved – Murphy tried to get her floated but she was just a little kid – no one wanted to do it. He didn’t care and hunted her down. She threw herself off a cliff to save Clarke.”

“Jesus,” Raven winced.

Miller nodded. “After that the two of them decided to work together – said we needed rules to live by. Clarke’s really smart – her and Bellamy might not always see eye to eye, but together they work. The Princess and the Rebel.”

“You make it sound romantic.” Raven remarked hopefully.

Miller sent her a strange look. “Those two? Naw, not in this life.”

“Because that would just be too convenient, wouldn’t it?!” Raven muttered under her breath. It was obviously louder than she thought because Miller straightened.

“I get it,” Miller rumbled, “she’s easy to hate. Easy to like too, if you appreciate that sort of thing.” 

He sauntered away, leaving Raven’s mind swirling. She’d begun suspecting there was a Finn and Clarke the minute she’d seen them together. Neither of them were all that subtle – half blinded by her bloody head wound, even she caught the intense looks they shared. Then there was the entire lack of sensitivity in her interactions with the others at camp. Now she just had to work out what to do about it.

 

Octavia

“I’ve lost the trail,” Finn looked lost at this admission. He sank to his haunches and softly filtered dirt through his fingers, as though it held the answers he sought.

Octavia watched him cautiously – if they didn’t find Clarke she had a suspicion it wouldn’t go down so well with Spacewalker. Admittedly, Octavia felt a little bit jealous over the obvious feelings Finn held for Clarke, but then she dismissed it, remembering Raven. She had no desire to be part of a love triangle – things on the ground were turning out to be tough enough. Nah, she was enjoying her new found freedom too much for that.

“You’ll pick it up again, Finn.” She called reassuringly.

She looked at Bellamy with raised eyebrows, knowing they were thinking the same thing. Sometimes having a sibling came in handy.

“Hey, where’s John?” Monroe asked suddenly. 

Octavia looked around them puzzled – she mentally counted the group and realised Roma was right, they were a man down. “He was just here.”

Bellamy sighed. “Spread out, he couldn’t have gotten that far.”

Octavia started to head back the way they’d come when a large thump came from behind her. She gasped in horror and backed into a tree at the sight of John Mbege’s body – his throat slit wide open. Octavia felt like she was going to throw up and looking around her told her all she needed to know. She wasn’t the only one scared out of her mind right now.

Bellamy grabbed her arm, pulling her firmly to his side.

“The trees,” Finn mumbled, staring into the canopy.

Bellamy and Octavia followed his motion, realising Mbege must have been dropped from up high. Probably grabbed from above when at the back of the group and no one had noticed. They unconsciously moved closer together, forming a small circle.

Jasper grabbed the hand on her other side and it lessened her panic momentarily. 

“Now can we go back?” Roma asked in clear panic.

“We shouldn’t have crossed the boundary.” Diggs started backing away from them all.

“Over there,” Jasper’s voice was high pitched. Any other time and she would have laughed, but there wasn’t a lot to laugh about right now.

Grounders were circling them from a far – moving through the trees with total silence and rapier stealth. They were there one second, gone the next. Octavia felt light headed – she’d never been in a situation as daunting as this.

“We should run.” Finn declared.

So they did – taking off in the same direction, trying their best to stick together and stay ahead of the danger. Octavia leapt over logs in her path, dodging tree roots and trying not to stumble down small ravines they passed. The adrenaline spurred her on and she just hoped they were going the right way.

“I can’t run much longer.” Jasper gasped.

She hadn’t realised he’d fallen behind and she slowed down to help him when he tripped. Bellamy, Finn, and the two other girls joined them, glancing about alertly. But Diggs kept running.

“Stop,” Bellamy called out firmly, “we need to stay together.”

Octavia cringed back and let out a small scream when a tripwire sent a large wooden grounder trap flying at Diggs and suddenly he was skewered several feet off the ground. Too many pieces of wood punching holes in his body for her to count. God, they were all going to die out here.

That was all it took for the terror to take hold. Grounders were circling them again – like the sharks of the forest. Hunting. It was like they could scent the blood, scent the frightened teenagers in their mist.

When one of them edged closer Roma screamed, flying off at a galloping pace into the forest to their right. Then the grounders were gone again and Octavia was breathing just as heavily as the rest of them.

“Where’d they go?” Monroe shrieked.

“After Roma.” Bellamy looked appalled.

They set off after Roma and Octavia prayed it wasn’t too late. It wasn’t like she even liked her brother’s latest bed warmer, but she wasn’t selfish enough to want anyone dead.

 

Clarke

When Clarke woke alone for the second time she decided she’d spent enough time indulging in her own wants. It was time to make a break for it – get back to camp and make sure everyone was still safe. The fire from a torch set in a wall bracket burnt low – flickering shadows over old-world paraphernalia her grounder must have collected.

“Hello?” she called into the dim light, “Is anyone there?”

She carefully tossed off the blankets shrouding her, smiling faintly at the memory of her grounder covering her up, and rose to her feet. She couldn’t hear anything, but with how quietly he moved that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Still, she didn’t think he would have ignored her calling.

She discovered her leg still hurt, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. She limped to another path she’d observed off this main room, following its narrow, winding curve. It was abutted by sharp walls of rock and hanging vines, and seemed to have no ending. Water dripped on her face when she passed under a particularly low roofed section, startling her out of her search.

When she looked up, Clarke could see faint strands of sunlight coming from a weakened spot in the defence. It might just be enough for her to claw her way out. In the face of no other options she started digging her way through the rock and loose mud. 

It was exhausting work, but she finally had a gap big enough to crawl through. She squirmed out of her precarious exit and sprawled on the forest floor at the base of a large tree. It was strange, but Clarke felt a reluctance to leave. She didn’t really want to examine those feelings yet, they felt raw somehow. She limped off, choosing a direction at random.

She had no idea how far she was from camp, but hopefully it wouldn’t take too long to find somebody. She didn’t know how long her leg would hold up to the pressure of a forest trek. Thankfully, the trees started to space out and the undergrowth was less dense.

She’d only been walking for a short time when she heard a shrill scream, and then Roma was darting through the giant trunks ahead of her. Clarke ran for her, worried about what had the girl so scared. She was a stones throw away when a spear came flying through the sky and she was pulled back into a hard chest. She found herself crouching amongst roots and ferns, firmly held against a large male body, a hand smothering her screams.

Roma flew through the air right before her eyes and was impaled mid-flight to a tree – she died instantly. Clarke blinked back tears at the swiftness of the violence and struggled to calm her breathing.

She was yanked to her feet and turned to face her grounder. He looked furious. He grabbed her arm and marched her back the way she’d come. After a while he let her go and stalked ahead, his face stoic and his stance rigid.

She hobbled along – still following him – her mind a deep void. He’d saved her from that spear. His people were killing them off, but he’d saved her. He really wasn’t like the others.

When her mind cleared she realised just how badly her leg was aching. She paused to lean against a tree, exhaustion settling in. He stopped when she did and turned around – giving nothing away, as usual. 

“My leg...” she murmured, glancing down and letting her hair fall over her face.

He was in front of her the next minute, hauling her into his arms. He started up his fast stride again, staring straight ahead and refusing to look at her.

But she looked at him – stared at the proud set of his jaw. “You saved me,” she said softly, and reached for his cheek before she could help herself, “thank you.”

He looked at her then, his eyes heated. She could see his nostrils flaring and didn’t know whether it was in anger, or something else altogether.

He knelt to place her on the ground and Clarke vaguely recognised the area abutting his cave. He slid a concealed hatch open and bundled her through, carefully walking through the caverns to place her back on the bundle of blankets.

“I know you’re angry right now,” she said when he walked away, “but if Roma’s out there, then the rest of my people are too. I can’t let any more of them die. Please.”

He strode back and pulled her hands towards him – she complied until he started wrapping chains around them, fastening them with a lock.

“Hey, wait,” she struggled against him, “what are you doing?!”

He grunted and looped the chain through a metal ring in the wall and before she knew it she was trapped.

“I don’t understand,” she yanked at the chains but it was futile. 

He walked off and didn’t once look back. She shouted at him but it was like shouting into the void of space. Clarke was alone, and imprisoned – a little like the last year of her life in solitary.

Frustration and anger settled in her heart, but with it was the knowledge that he would be back. He cared about her – he might not want to, but he did.


	4. Things Just Got Complicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the characters, events and world of The 100 – that honour goes to Kass Morgan and the writers for the (amazing) TV show. This story, though, is all mine baby!

Bellamy

There was no sign of Roma, and Bellamy began fearing the worst. First Mbege, then Diggs – who knew if any of them would get out of this alive. It was a mistake to cross the boundary – Clarke wouldn’t have wanted them to risk their lives for her. If he knew anything about the healer it was that she really cared, maybe too much, about making sure all of them survived. He, on the other hand, selfishly wished he was anywhere but here – like back in his tent with two warm bodies occupying his bed.

“Over there,” Monroe pointed to a swath of familiar fabric he could just about glimpse behind a tree.

Bellamy jogged ahead of the others and came to an abrupt stop when he saw Roma’s body. He audibly gulped, feeling immeasurably guilty, and reached out to close her fogged eyes.

“She was only here because of me,” he groused.

“It’s not your fault, Bell,” Octavia said gently, putting a hand to his shoulder. “She chose to come, we all did.”

“They’re playing with us.” Finn exclaimed angrily.

Bellamy turned to face the others and felt a renewed sense of purpose. He wasn’t going down without a fight – and he’d be damned if he let his sister get hurt. If war was what these people were after, then he’d find a way to fight back.

“Well what are they waiting for,” Jasper screamed hoarsely, “Get it over with!”

Bellamy took in his sweating, feverish appearance and wondered if it wasn’t too much too soon for the guy to cope with, especially after his near miss their first day on the ground.

Unfortunately, he was distracted when the grounders began dropping from the trees – much closer than before. They’d clearly had enough of their sport and were closing in for the kill.

Finn punched a shaking Jasper in the chin and Bellamy pulled them apart, fuming.

“This is not the time,” he growled. Great, two hot heads to deal with now.

Bellamy pushed Octavia behind him and took up a fighting stance, his heart pounding, but before the grounders got close enough, a foghorn blasted through the woods. Startled birds took flight and the grounders immediately took off, disappearing in that creepy way of theirs. Bellamy only relaxed minutely – they seemed to like messing with them.

“The horn, what does it mean?” Monroe asked, glancing around confused.

“Acid fog.” Finn stated grimly.

“We should run,” Octavia nudged him.

“We can’t run, there’s no time.” Finn fumbled with his bag and pulled out a tent. He shook it in the air furiously, expanding it to its full size and laying it across the ground.

They all took the hint and quickly dove underneath it. Squashed together in the cramped space they frantically closed any gaps that let in the light and the possibility of the dreaded gas.

“How long does it stay?” Monroe whispered.

“Will this even work?” Octavia inched closer to his side.

“Shut up,” Finn spat.

Bellamy glared at him in warning. After several minutes he started to get antsy – surely they should have felt something by now – even seen or heard something. He slowly inched the cloth by his face away from the ground and was met with nothing but clear air. He tossed it over his head and glanced around. Nothing – no fog in sight.

“False alarm I guess,” he shrugged.

He stood up and leant down to help Octavia to her feet when he spied movement out of the corner of his eye. A grounder was running through the forest.

“They’re coming back,” he warned, reaching for his blade.

Jasper followed his gaze and they watched the grounder bound away from them. “He’s alone.” 

Finn hurriedly crushed the tent in his pack and started off in the same direction.

Bellamy clasped his elbow. “Where the hell are you going?”

“To catch him,” Finn shook him off indignantly, “He can tell us where Clarke is.”

Following Spacewalker was turning into one of the craziest days of his life, but they’d come this far and he’d had enough of running from the enemy. 

 

Clarke

Clarke looked up when a scraping noise echoed through the cave from outside – she hadn’t been alone that long but it’d given her some time to think. She’d done nothing but rethink her perspective since landing on the ground. It just kept shifting, the more she learned – the more she experienced. 

Her grounder entered the room and slowly stalked towards her. He still looked grim – clearly his anger hadn’t abated. He wasn’t shying away this time though – he looked right at her and Clarke felt her cheeks burn. His dark eyes were focused solely on her - it was like a wordless reproach for leaving him earlier.

“You didn’t have to lock me up,” Clarke grumbled, “I wasn’t really in any shape to leave again so soon. And I can’t stay forever – they need me.”

He grunted, a deep noise in his throat, and pulled out a key to unlock her. Clarke watched as he unwrapped the chains from her wrists. He was being careful – in fact, even when he was chaining her up he’d tried not to hurt her. It was such a contrast to the interactions she’d had with other grounders that it left her bemused.

“I feel like all I do is thank you,” she smiled gratefully and rubbed at her stiff wrists, “but for this you’ll just have to accept the fact I’m not decking you right now and be grateful.”

He chuckled gently and Clarke looked at him in surprise.

“You do understand me.” She exclaimed – feeling irrationally pleased.

He stayed knelt in front of her – so close she could see tiny sparks of amber in the depths of his pitch eyes. He smelt comforting – like pine and musk.

“You should not have run away,” he rumbled.

His voice was both softer and deeper than she’d expected, and his words felt almost formal.

“I wasn’t running,” Clarke smiled sheepishly, “I was hobbling.”

He didn’t smile at her joke. “I cannot protect you outside if you are not with me.”

Clarke felt disconcerted at their intensity – but also…intrigued. This was nothing like her interactions with Finn – those were sweet, and formed from the rosy coloured blinders of first attraction – first love. She wasn’t even sure anymore that what she felt for Finn was love. She cared about him – still did, despite her anger and disappointment. But her grounder was making her feel things on a scale that drowned out those feelings for Finn until there was nothing left but washed up remnants.

“Will you tell me your name?” she asked, feeling unexpectedly shy.

He hesitated, and his voice was gruff when he finally answered. “Lincoln.”

“Clarke!” Her name echoed in the enclosed space. The voice was all wrong and it came from the most unexpected person. Lincoln rose to his feet and took up a defensive position in front of her.

Finn rushed inside Lincoln’s cave and stood at the threshold, watching them warily.

“Come here, Clarke,” he gripped his knife tightly and beckoned for her hurriedly with the other hand, “I won’t let him hurt you.”

“No, Finn.” Clarke rose to her feet clumsily and gripped Lincoln’s arm to steady herself. He didn’t look at her, but she sensed his attention was split between the two of them. “He’s not going to hurt me. He wouldn’t.”

Finn looked incredulous. “You’re wounded. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Clarke smiled up at Lincoln. “He saved my life. I trust him.” It wasn’t until she said the words that she realised she meant them. It gave her an odd jolt.

Lincoln looked down at her – he wasn’t smiling, but his eyes felt like a warm caress.

“You can’t be serious.” Finn sneered.

Finn stared between them suspiciously, then his eyes focused intently on her hand, still latched onto Lincoln with a familiarity that stunned even her. That was all it took for him to snap. He dove at them, knife raised, and Clarke screamed.

“Finn, stop. Please, just stop!”

Lincoln swept her behind him once more and knocked the knife out of Finn’s hand. He pushed the younger boy back and they began grappling and punching, taking their fight to the floor. Dirt stirred up and the air rung with pained grunts.

Clarke didn’t know what to do – Finn wasn’t usually violent and she was both shocked and scared someone was going to get seriously hurt. They both pushed away from each other and leapt to their feet – Lincoln seemed unscathed but Finn had a bloody mouth. He spat on the floor and ran at Lincoln like a man possessed. She gasped when she caught his movement as he reached for Lincoln’s sheathed knife.

“NO!” she yelled and dove at them, completely disregarding her own safety

 

Octavia

They’d followed the grounder to this concealed underground network of caves and Finn had snuck off while they’d been debating entering. They didn’t know that anyone was down there and it could be an ambush – she, for one, wasn’t all that eager to go into some dark and dank lair. But at Clarke’s recognisable scream they all scrambled for the opening Finn had taken moments prior.

Octavia clambered through behind Bellamy and they shuffled along in single file, following the sounds of a scuffle. Bellamy froze when they reached a partially lit room, flames flickering and casting sharp shadows around them.

She watched aghast as Finn grabbed a knife from a grounder’s belt and Clarke dashed in the way of his upward thrust. Octavia shrieked, she couldn’t help it.

“Oh, god,” Finn wailed, staring at his bloody hands.

Clarke clutched at her stomach in disbelief and the grounder caught her before she could fall. He gently set her on the floor, his hands running over her franticly. She might still have been in shock, but there was clearly something going on between the savage and the Princess.

“Don’t take it out,” Clarke gasped.

Finn fell to his knees next to Clarke and reached for her hand, but the grounder made a fierce and angry noise, slamming his fist forcefully into Finn’s face. He fell back, knocked out cold.

Bellamy finally reacted, edging closer with his hands spread out in front of him.

“Monroe,” he shouted behind them, “Keep a watch outside.”

“Sure, Bellamy.”

“We need to take her back to camp,” Bellamy said to the grounder, nodding at the blonde he sheltered.

Jasper edged towards Finn to check his breathing, then started dragging the boy back towards the tunnel. 

The grounder clearly saw the movements as a threat – he growled scarily, and gathered Clarke in his arms, pulling her farther away. Octavia edged the other way, trying to get a closer look at Clarke’s injury. It looked bad – really bad.

The grounder was focused entirely on Bellamy closing in on their front, and then on Clarke when she let out a pained moan. He looked desperate and manic. Octavia took a moment to appreciate the allure Clarke seemed to hold for these men – what did she do, paint a princess crown on her head, find herself a tower and holler for a prince charming?!

As she approached undetected she noticed the foghorn hanging from the grounder’s side. With shock, she realised that he must have sounded the alert earlier – he’d saved them from the other grounders.

She figured the grounder wasn’t letting Clarke go anytime soon – she’d never seen somebody act so possessively, and she didn’t speak grounder to reassure him they meant her no harm. There was only one feasible way out of this situation.

Octavia turned the hilt of her knife outwards, and lunged, bringing it down on the back of the grounder’s skull. He immediately slumped over Clarke and she rushed to remove him from the injured girl.

Bellamy steadily picked up Clarke in his arms. “Help Jasper with Finn, O. We need to move fast, before he wakes up.” 

They both ran for the tunnel – Octavia got to the exit first and helped Jasper push Finn through. When she clambered out herself, Monroe was helping Jasper prop Finn up between them. Once Bellamy was out, with Clarke secure in his arms, they took off running for camp.

“What the hell happened?” Monroe asked.

“Spacewalker stabbed Clarke.” Octavia mumbled, out of breath with all the running they’d done that day.

“Seriously?” Monroe sent her a baffled look.

“It was an accident,” Jasper huffed beneath the added weight of Finn.

“Tell that to grounder dude,” Bellamy said, “I thought he was going to kill him.”

“I thought it was kind of romantic,” Octavia snickered.

Bellamy shot her a dirty look. “Don’t go getting ideas.”

“As if I would,” Octavia smirked, “He sure was hot though.”

She was doubly curious to see how this would all play out – love triangle it was no longer. More like love rectangle. One thing was for sure, they hadn’t seen the last of that grounder. 

 

Lincoln

Lincoln rose with a pounding head and a sense of dire panic. He’d allowed himself to become distracted and Clarke had been taken from him. Even worse, she’d been injured – and poisoned by his very own blade.

He knew she was the closest thing they had to a healer – he’d watched from afar as she’d tended to all the minor scrapes the children got into. Witnessed the miraculous recovery of the boy they called Jasper. They didn’t have sufficient knowledge to save her – they didn’t even have the antidote.

He sprung to his feet, lunged for the exit to his cave and thundered through the darkening forest. There was only a chance that this might work, and a big possibility he’d be branded a traitor, but he couldn’t let her die. He just couldn’t.

 

Bellamy

They reached camp as the wind began to pick up and grey clouds bruised the sky. Normally he’d be yelling for Clarke, depending on her to fix the problem – but with a pang of fear he realised she wouldn’t be any help this time. It was up to them to save her. They really needed her to survive this – he needed her to survive this. He had no desire to run this camp on his own anymore.

“Monty!” he yelled, remembering the boy sometimes assisted Clarke, “Monty, get out here!”

He came running, along with half the camp. It was to be expected really – they’d been gone a while and he was making a commotion.

“She’s been stabbed.” He pushed through the delinquents, noting their looks of shock.

“Shit,” Monty muttered, “Bring her inside, quickly.”

He laid Clarke out on her own rudimentary examination table and turned to look for Raven. She was backed up against the dropship wall with a look of horror on her face. He watched Monty shake his head sadly. He just didn’t know enough to fix this.

“Is the radio working yet?” he asked her.

“No!” she wrung her hands together and it struck him as highly uncharacteristic, “I can’t get it to work!”

“We need it working, Reyes, so I suggest you get right on it.” Bellamy snapped tersely.

“She’s tried, man,” Miller stepped between them, “Nothing doing.”

Bellamy sighed and gripped his hair in frustration. “There’s got to be something we can do!”

“Th…the ship’s survival database – maybe there’s something on there that can help.” Raven tried.

“I thought they were damaged in the crash,” he stared at her in hope.

“They were,” she straightened up, “But it’s an easier fix. I can do it.”

“Then get to it,” he ordered.

She ran off, sending him a slightly peeved look, and he turned away to watch Jasper and Octavia prop a still out-of-it Finn against the wall.

“Octavia,” Monty said hurriedly, wrapping a crude bandage around the knife sticking out of Clarke’s side, “Can you get me whatever’s left of the moonshine? We need to disinfect this wound, now.”

“On it,” Octavia pranced outside.

Bellamy followed her, feeling an immense pressure settle on his shoulders. He observed the dismal sky and walked decisively to the gates, pulling them firmly closed.

“Get everyone inside,” he ordered Miller, “There’s a storm coming.”


	5. Not Letting Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the characters, events and world of The 100 – that honour goes to Kass Morgan and the writers for the (amazing) TV show. This story, though, is all mine baby!

Bellamy

The chaos of the drop ship was making him feel claustrophobic, and the irony of that hadn’t entirely passed him by. The delinquents milled around, bumping into each other and everything not nailed to the walls, attempting hushed conversations that were anything but hushed.

The minute a fight broke out between two guys and Octavia got jostled in the melee, Bellamy lost his temper.

“That’s it. Everyone up to the second level, now!” he bellowed. Bellamy put his hands on his hips and gave them all the fiercest look he could muster. Octavia scoffed and elbowed one of the guys out of her way.

“You heard him,” Miller called out in support, “Grab what you need and get up there.”

Bellamy turned to Monty, watching the quiet boy hunch over Clarke and gingerly check the wound – lifting up the blood soaked bandage with careful hands.

“How is she?” he asked, walking to their side. Clarke looked ashen under the artificial lighting of the dropship, and had yet to wake up – which was a concern enough in itself. He hoped he hadn’t jostled her too much in the journey back to camp.

“Not getting any better,” Monty replied worriedly.

“Raven,” he hollered, “Any progress?”

“Not yet! It takes time – the wiring is screwed and I had to repurpose some of the circuits when I tried to repair the radio.” She was hunched over the table and didn’t bother turning around.

The last of the delinquents trudged up the ladder and Octavia pulled the hatch closed, spinning the lock.

“What’s going on?” Finn’s weak voice broke through the resulting silence.

They all watched as he shook off the head injury that had incapacitated him and peered at them all with befuddled eyes. He was slouched near the drop ship entrance, now closed for the first time since they’d landed to prevent debris from the storm blowing in.

“Nice of you to join us,” Bellamy derided. He knew his temper was showing and it was all due to the futility of the situation. He needed to take action and there didn’t appear to be anything he could do. He hated feeling useless.

Finn looked dazed, but the memories must have been coming back fast because he bounded to his feet, staggering against the wall for support.

“Clarke!” he exclaimed in abject panic, “Where is she? Is she okay?”

“No thanks to you,” Bellamy told him. 

No one needed to say anything when his eyes lit upon her seconds later. Finn took a step back, rubbing his stomach as though he felt her phantom pains. He seemed too horrified to approach her – like he was in shock. 

“She’s dying,” Monty wrung his hands together and glared at Finn, “Unless we find a way to fix the radio or get the survival database working, then I don’t know what to do to help her. Even then…” 

Monty wasn’t a medic – he might have watched Clarke work, and he might understand herbal medicine, but Bellamy knew sewing a person back together from a potentially fatal injury was something else altogether. Finn’s gaze shot to Raven in the corner, her concentration intense despite the stirring of her boyfriend, and he started towards her. “Why haven’t you fixed the radio yet?” he shouted. 

Bellamy went to intercede but he wasn’t needed.

“Whoa,” Miller stood as a barricade in front of her with his hands held out, “Back up.”

“When I need a knight in shining armour, I’ll send you a job application, hot off the press,” Raven grumbled, giving Miller a strange look. She looked around him and glared at Spacewalker. “I’ve tried, Finn, but I haven’t got the parts I need.”

That was the second time Miller had taken a protective stance in front of the young mechanic and it made Bellamy curious. Whilst he’d been busy sampling the delights of the liberated girls around camp, Nathan had kept pretty much to himself. The guy was a mystery, but a dependable one.

“What do you need?” Finn asked sullenly. He was faced off against Miller, a tick pulsing in his jaw.

“Something with transmitter components,” Raven explained in exasperation, “Pretty much anything electrical would be good right about now.”

“This is hopeless,” Bellamy admitted his doubts. They were just too ill prepared.

“Wait,” Finn started pacing, his eyes on the prone Clarke, “I think I know somewhere that might have what you need.”

“Care to share?” Octavia snarked. She wiped perspiration from Clarke’s forehead with a damp rag and sent Finn a disgusted look. Bellamy echoed the sentiment.

“A storage unit I found a while back, it’s not too far from here.” Finn nodded decisively.

“And you didn’t feel like telling your leaders?” He was annoyed at the apparent secrecy.

“You’re not my leader,” Finn scowled, “and besides, Clarke knew.”

Finn looked everywhere but at Raven, and Bellamy got the impression it was a secret the two of them had shared for a specific reason. Talk about awkward.

“There’s no time for this.” Finn strode for the dropship door and slammed the lever down to open it – wind whipped in, blasting the seven of them with frigid air. Clarke moaned deliriously at the disturbance.

“It’s alright,” Raven shrugged her jacket on, “we’ll hurry – hopefully it’ll have what I need before it’s too late.” She eyed Clarke apprehensively.

“Fine,” Bellamy nodded in agreement – it was their only apparent option, “But Miller goes with you. Spacewalker isn’t all that reliable at the moment and that storm is fierce.”

“Whatever,” Raven grouched, knocking into him as she passed. 

Miller shot him a cocky grin and followed behind her and Finn. “She likes me really.” 

“We’ll keep watch,” Bellamy rolled his eyes and then got serious, “I’ll keep the doors open for as long as I can. Hurry back.”

The three of them trotted off, arms held over their faces for protection. Bellamy pulled the parachute sheets over the door for some semblance of shelter and turned to the others. Clarke mumbled under her breath, her body stirring, and slowly opened her eyes.

“Hey there, Princess,” he grinned at her, glad to see her awake again. He walked over and reached out for her hand and she feebly squeezed his palm.

“Hi,” she mumbled, then winced when her wound pained her. Sweat beaded her forehead and Octavia gently wiped it away.

Monty leant over her to get her attention when Octavia’s ministrations distracted her. She opened her eyes again and looked at him. “I cleaned the wound with the moonshine, and wrapped it to stop the bleeding, but we haven’t removed the knife. I don’t really know what I’m doing, Clarke.” His voice was hoarse with worry.

“It’s okay,” she smiled gently to reassure him, “You’ve done what I would have done so far.”

“We’re trying to fix the radio,” Bellamy told her, wanting her to know they had a plan of sorts, “Finn, Raven and Miller have gone to a supply bunker to search for the missing components.”

Clarke nodded. “Good idea. You’re going to need something to stitch me up too.”

“Will wires do?” Octavia asked. Clarke coughed, but nodded her head, smiling at his sister in thanks when she pressed a water container to Clarke’s lips.

“You better check with Raven first though,” she said a second later, her breathing raspy.

Always the sensible one. Bellamy marvelled at her ability to think through her pain. If he’d been the one stabbed, he’d probably be the worst patient in history. Never mind issuing instructions to his caretakers.

Clarke looked at Monty. “Make sure you use the moonshine to sterilise your hands before you touch the wound.” 

He nodded uneasily.

“I thought doctors were supposed to make the worst patients,” he grinned.

“I’m not a doctor yet, Blake.”

“Anything we can do for you, Princess?” he asked, squeezing her hand once more before letting go.

“Got any more of that moonshine?” Her eyes were glassy and Bellamy found her strength admirable.

“What a lush,” Octavia joked. She reached for the half empty clear bottle and helped Clarke take a few tentative sips. Clarke winced and laid her head back down. Minutes later her eyes closed and she stilled – if her chest wasn’t still moving with every breath Bellamy would have thought she’d died.

 

Raven

The storage bunker wasn’t that far from the camp, but the walk there was about as uncomfortable as she could possibly imagine. One of her companions was dead set on ignoring the impending conversation revolving around a certain injured blonde, and the other was doing everything he could to let her know of his presence. As if she could ignore him with the way he’d been behaving. He was like an annoyingly attractive fly she couldn’t swat away.

“It’s here,” Finn pulled open a hatch in the middle of a grassy mound, and swung himself down.

“After you,” Miller gestured with raised eyebrows.

Raven emerged in the dark space and watched Finn hurriedly light some candles in jars as Miller scrambled to join them. It smelt damp and looked like a family had tried to wait out the nuclear war inside, and it at least appeared stocked full of supplies they could make use of at camp. And family supplies usually meant toys, even in an apocalyptic situation – toys could mean electronics.

Feeling optimistic, she grabbed one of the candles from the table by the door and moved over to a couple of plastic containers on a metal shelving unit. Behind her she heard the two boys joining her in shifting through the room’s contents. She pushed aside blankets and books, not really paying attention to their titles in the dim light afforded her, but nothing stood out as helpful.

“What about this?” Miller asked.

She turned to see him holding a bright red remote controlled car and her spirits rose further.

“Yes!” Raven cheered, “If we find the controller, then we’ve hit gold.” 

They rummaged around some more and she noticed Finn was being unusually quiet in his corner. She approached him warily, wondering what state his mind was in. She’d always felt closer to Finn than anyone else – growing up the way she did it wasn’t really a surprise. Finn had saved her – if it wasn’t for him she didn’t know where she’d be. Or if there would ever be a her. But there came a point when people grew apart – things happened. Like illegal space walks, incarcerations and shuttles to earth. And hard-to-compete-with blondes.

“You okay?” she whispered in his ear, nudging his shoulder.

He moved away from her infinitesimally, but she noticed it none the less and it sparked off the anger she’d been holding back. He was staring down at his hands, holding a miniature two-headed deer made from scrap metal.

“Something on your mind, Finn?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“I gave this to Clarke.” He muttered.

“Seems like you gave a lot of things to Clarke.” She couldn’t help the betrayal in her voice.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he looked her straight in the eyes for the first time since she’d landed, “I’m not making excuses, Rae, but I thought you were dead. I thought I’d never see you again.”

Raven laughed cruelly. “You couldn’t have waited more than ten days?”

“I’m sorry.” He looked pitiful and she wished he didn’t. It was making her sympathise with him and he hadn’t earned her sympathy. Not even close.

“Do you love her?” she asked. Internally dreading the answer and knowing it at the same time.

“I love you,” he said, looking down.

“But not the way you love her, right?” Raven was getting louder. She heard Miller still and could feel the weight of his gaze.

“Raven?” Miller called. She could hear the hesitation in his voice and it angered her. She couldn’t take sympathy right now.

Finn’s dark eyes beseeched her for understanding. She understood alright, she understood there was nothing left between them to hold on to. They were just delaying the inevitable.

“Not the way you love her.” Raven repeated, nodding her head in confirmation. 

She reached around her neck and pulled off her raven pendant. She’d been wearing it proudly for years – a symbol of the love she’d found with the boy next door. But not anymore. She passed it to Finn and he took it from her with a look of regret.

“I deserve better.” She affirmed.

“Raven!” Miller sounded exasperated now.

“What?!” she shouted, turning to face him. He held up a black, buttoned contraption with an aerial sticking from it’s roof.

“Err…I’ve found the remote.” Miller smirked. 

 

Octavia

They’d been coming out to the guard post to check for signs of the search party’s return for the past hour. Octavia was taking her turn on watch when she spied two large figures approaching through the lashing rain. Two, not three. And definitely too large to be the missing campers. The closer they got the more her shock grew. She scrambled down and ran through the muddy camp, lightning illuminating her path.

“Bellamy!” Octavia burst into the dropship, pushing her sodden hair out of the way, “there’s two grounders approaching – one of them looks like Clarke’s grounder!”

“Is that what we’re calling him now?” Bellamy griped, coming to his feet.

“Does it matter what we’re calling him? He’s here!” Octavia yelled.

Her brother seemed to realise she was serious and withdrew his weapon from it’s sheath. He climbed the ladder to the second level, sprung the lock and thumped on the door with the butt of his knife. “Jasper, get down here.”

The gangly boy shuffled his way down and immediately looked to Clarke. “What’s happening? What do you need?”

“Back up.” Bellamy grunted and walked outside.

Octavia skipped after him with Jasper at her side, feeling a little excited at the latest development. Maybe they’d be able to save Clarke where they couldn’t. “Sexy grounder dude is back and he’s bought a sexy grounder friend.” 

She laughed at her brother’s glare.

“I swear, O. You better quit now.” Bellamy warned.

Octavia was already soaked from her watch so the torrential rain wasn’t bothering her, but Jasper shivered and pulled his goggles down over his eyes. She wasn’t sure whether it was protection from the water, or something that obviously calmed him.

“What do you think they want?” he looked at her nervously.

“I don’t think it’s an attack,” Octavia nudged him playfully, “they were right out in the open. They wanted to be seen.”

Bellamy got to the gate before them, peered through a gap in the logs and sheet metal, then yanked it open forcefully. She exited to find him glaring at the two grounders.

She was right – one of them was Clarke’s grounder. His companion had long, dark hair, shaved at the sides and braided away from his face to reveal tribal tattoos and a grizzly beard. His eyes were much lighter, and didn’t seem as hard. They both looked highly alert, though they held no weapons. Octavia knew their hands were good enough weapons on their own so she didn’t relax entirely.

“What do you want?” Bellamy grouched. He’d taken up a defiant stance, with his hands on his hips and his chin raised.

The grounder from the cave stepped forwards and lifted his chin. “Clarke,” he grunted.

“Oh!” Octavia exclaimed, unable to help herself. They had certainly got well-acquainted earlier if the grounder knew her name. His dark eyes looked haunted, but fierce. He glanced at her, and then back to her brother.

“She’s a little busy right now.” Bellamy jeered carelessly. He was playing with fire.

Grounder dude clenched his fists and strode right up to Bellamy – their chests nearly touching, each one glaring at the other with their hands on their stashed weapons. It was like a male gorilla meeting – the testosterone was potent.

“Clarke,” he spat again firmly.

“Bell,” she interceded, getting weary of the posturing, “I don’t think he’d hurt her, I think he’s here to help.”

“He’s the reason she got stabbed in the first place.” Bellamy stated.

The grounder growled low in the back of his throat and Octavia knew they were being understood.

She edged closer to her brother – noticing the second grounder stepped forward at her movement too. Jasper shuffled on his feet uncertainly at her side.

“You know that was Finn, you’re just being a dick.” She told him.

“Will you help her?” She asked the grounder.

His eyes slid away from her brother to meet hers. Ever so slightly, he nodded.

She grabbed Bellamy by the elbow and started towing him backwards. He was a dead weight and her feet slipped in the slick dirt.

“Octavia,” Bellamy pronounced every syllable in that highly irritating I’m-angry-at-you voice only family could effectively produce.

“Just trust me, big brother. Can you do that? Please?” she pleaded.

Bellamy looked at her and didn’t say anything – she was willing to bet he was grinding his teeth behind that stubborn jaw. He was struggling between his instincts to protect her, and the others, and the desperate situation the grounders might be able to get them out of.

“Close the gate behind them, Jasper,” she said mildly, just loud enough for him to hear.

He was easier to move this time and Octavia knew it was because he was trusting her. Bellamy’s first instinct was to attack or defend, and her chest felt warm that he’d decided to finally listen to her – finally realise she wasn’t a child to be coddled and ignored.

The two grounders followed them into the dropship, their eyes darting about guardedly. She didn’t blame them as she was pretty sure their reception upon entering the enemy camp, voluntarily or not, wouldn’t be as peaceful. The minute they crossed the threshold and Clarke came into sight, the cave grounder ran straight for her. Monty backed away warily and sent them a bewildered look.

Octavia watched as the grounder ran his hands over Clarke’s cheeks – he was achingly gentle and it was curiously beautiful. The way he so obviously cared, and so obviously didn’t care that they knew it.

The second grounder – tattoo face, Octavia had decided to call him, approached Clarke’s side. He respectfully nodded at Monty, who was still pulling a great impression of a gape-mouthed statue. He withdrew some vials from a pouch at his side and set them down on an assisting table.

Octavia watched as he reached for the cloth around Clarke’s wound and began unwinding it. Then he tore away the fabric of her top, leaving her in her bra with the tattered remains fluttering at her sides. When the knife and its entrance were fully revealed he prodded at it carefully – feeling the placement between her ribs with furrowed brows. He looked at Clarke’s grounder and spoke for the first time.

“Em bilaik baid, ba ai na fis em op.” He stated grimly in another language. Octavia watched them converse, fascinated. (It is bad, but I can heal her)

“Od em op.” (Do it) Cave-grounder didn’t look away from Clarke, but his voice was stern.

“Emo laik stai oso veida.” Tattoo-face said angrily. (They are still our enemy) 

“Em laik nai yumi veida!” The reply was abrupt and she watched him glower into his friend’s eyes. (She is not my enemy) 

“Yu sho?” (Are you sure?)

“Sha, aim sho. Em laik ain.” His voice was softer now. (Yes, I’m sure. She is mine)

It was a serious case of bad timing when voices came from outside the dropship. The others had finally returned. This should be interesting – not.

Finn was the first one to come rushing in and he skidded to a stop when he saw the grounders. Cave-grounder growled savagely and leapt for Finn, lifting him up by his shirt front and throwing him backwards. He fell to the floor looking astounded – that all changed the moment the grounder took up a protective position in front of Clarke.

Finn swore and climbed to his feet. “You need to stay away from her.”

“Stop,” Bellamy shouted, coming between them. He pushed Finn back. “They’re helping her.” 

“Stop being an ass,” Octavia growled, “You’re the one that hurt her, you don’t get to decide who fixes her.” 

Raven and Miller stepped inside, their eyes wide, and Miller pulled the leaver up to close the door. The sounds of the storm faded away slightly and Octavia could hear Finn’s heavy breathing.

“How did you get in anyway?” Bellamy asked them.

“Finn knew a secret passageway,” Raven walked around them towards her set up at the back, and was soon absorbed in the mechanics of the radio.

“More secrets, huh, Spacewalker.” Bellamy grumbled.

It seemed like Finn could do nothing but glare at them disapprovingly. Octavia wondered why she’d ever found him remotely attractive.

Clarke stirred on the examination bed again and Finn made another attempt to get to her.

“Enough!” Bellamy yelled. “Miller, help me get him upstairs. He’s not helping anyone by being here.”

Finn fought against the two of them but was out-numbered. Octavia sighed as she watched them struggle to manoeuvre him through the hatch. Once they were out of sight she turned to the grounders. Tattoo-face was watching Clarke, who was awake and staring up into the eyes of her grounder.

 

Clarke

The sound of fighting shook Clarke out of the half-dreams she’d been having. Her side was a constant ache, feeling hot and swollen, and her head felt stuffy. Somehow she knew the knife was still inside her, an insidious foreign body draining her life away. It took a lot of effort to open her eyes, but she did.

Her grounder was there. Lincoln, she reminded herself. He was so close she shifted her fingers to reach out for him, but he caught her hand to stop her from moving. She didn’t know why he was there but she was uncommonly grateful.

“Hi,” she murmured, giving him a small smile.

He didn’t smile back, but he gave her such an intense look and she knew he was highly agitated. How she knew that she couldn’t say, but she felt a connection to him on some unexplainable level.

The metal hull of the ship made an awful screeching sound – the storm outside reaching it’s peak. 

When someone shifted on her other side she gently turned her head. She wasn’t expecting to see another grounder there, standing side by side with Monty. He had light eyes, facial tattoos, and longer, wilder hair than Lincoln, but she could see a deep intelligence in his gaze.

“Hello,” she said politely. She knew by now that there was no way Lincoln was letting someone near her who intended to harm her, so this guy must be here to help in some way.

He nodded at her in greeting, then reached for a glass vial on the assisting table. He unstopped the cork sealing the strange yellow liquid and held it up to her lips. Clarke’s eyes darted to Lincoln, and at his encouragement she opened her mouth, swallowing the tart contents.

Next she watched as the grounder healer braced the skin either side of her wound and looked to her grounder. Lincoln placed one hand on her bare hip, the other he threaded through her hair, and leaned close to her face.

“He will remove the knife now,” he whispered close to her ear.

Clarke nodded that she was ready and closed her eyes.

She felt a sucking sensation and a slice of pain, just as something large hit the side of the dropship and sent them all careening to the floor.

Clarke gripped her side in panic. It was out – the knife was out and she wasn’t bleeding all over the dropship floor. Lincoln, who had broken her fall as much as he was able, frantically laid her out and inspected her side. He seemed relieved by whatever he saw and gently lifted her back onto the table. His hands lingered comfortingly.

She sighed in relief and turned to the strange grounder scrutinising the hole in her side. “Thank you.”

He looked away from her – reaching out to the moonshine and dousing the wound before pinching the pieces together. It was excruciating and Clarke moaned, feeling faint.

“I’ll get wires to stitch her up,” Octavia said from somewhere in the room.

“Don’t touch the blue ones.” called Raven absently.

Clarke must have blacked out, but when she woke her side felt stiff and sore. A quick flex of her stomach muscles told her she’d been stitched together she was mighty glad she wasn’t awake for that ordeal. She lay still, breathing deeply and just revelling in the realisation that she was okay. She was going to be okay.

She could vaguely hear Raven attempting to make contact with the Ark – she must have managed to fix the radio. 

“Ark station, please come in. Ark station, this is Raven Reyes.” It echoed around them but it met nothing but static.

“Are you sure you have the right frequency?” she heard Miller ask.

“Yes, I have the right damn frequency!” Raven sounded beleaguered.

“It’s the storm,” Monty interrupted their squabble, “It’s messing with the connection. We’ll just have to wait it out.”

The minute she opened her eyes, Lincoln leapt to his feet. She smiled at him shyly – feeling giddy that he’d stayed. She looked past him and around her but could only see the three she already knew were in the room, plus Octavia and Bellamy. The latter of which was watching them attentively.

“Where did your friend go?” she asked Lincoln.

He cleared his throat. “Nyko had to leave before the storm passed. He helped out of respect for our brotherhood bond, but he cannot be discovered here. He would be considered a traitor.”

“What about you?” she asked, regretfully, “Do you have to leave?”

“I am not going anywhere,” he assured her, his voice deepening, “I would rather be a splita – an outcast, than do that.”

Clarke searched his eyes, seeing nothing but resolve. She worried though, about what it would do to him to be outcast from his people. It felt like a lifetime ago that she first saw him, knelt over her in the dark at the base of that ravine. But he meant something, and down here, on the ground, she was learning that you kept the things that mattered close or you lost them.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble.” She told him, her eyes conveying her sincerity.

“It is too late for that,” Lincoln smiled down at her, “but I will find a way to make things right.”

“I’d be real interested in how you plan on doing that.” Bellamy intruded.

Clarke sighed in frustration and turned to her co-leader. He had that half-demonic look in his eye that signalled nothing but trouble. It was going to be a long night.


	6. One Big Happy Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the characters, events and world of The 100 – that honour goes to Kass Morgan and the writers for the (amazing) TV show. This story, though, is all mine baby!

Bellamy

It was the morning after and Bellamy was done waiting. Clarke had begged off with exhaustion last night, asked him to wait until she’d rested, and the brooding grounder hadn’t left her side once. He’d behaved like some kind of savage sentinel. Even when Bellamy thought he was sleeping soundly, at the slightest movement from one of the others the grounder’s dark gaze was lit. He’d let it go – grateful that Clarke was alive and not callous enough to push it just then. But enough was enough. 

Raven and Octavia were still curled up like kittens at the back of the dropship. But Miller had already risen to take first watch, and Finn had used the opportunity to disappear to who knew where when Jasper had come down from the second level seeking food not long ago. For a minute he’d thought he’d have to restrain him again, but one back-the-hell-away glare from the grounder and Finn had taken off. Monty had soon joined Jasper and he knew it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the delinquents were awake. They’d be asking questions and he wanted to have at least some sort of answer. A game plan of sorts.

Bellamy observed the intimacy between Clarke and the grounder with shrewd eyes. They were huddled close together, sharing a whispered conversation, and when their eyes met it was so intense he automatically felt like an intruder. There was definitely something more going on with them. He didn’t like it. They knew next to nothing about this guy, and for all intents and purposes he was the enemy. So, yeah, he definitely didn’t like it. But he could use it.

“You speak English.” He wasn’t asking a question and it effectively popped their bubble.

The grounder rose to face Bellamy and scanned him from head to toe. It was one man taking the measure of another, and Bellamy did the same in return. Bellamy was strong – he knew that was cocky and didn’t care one whit – but even he was unsure how he’d come out the other side of a one on one fight with this bruiser.

“Bellamy,” Clarke warned. She shifted on the bed to rise to her elbows, holding the blanket over her chest, “He saved my life.”

The grounder didn’t like her fussing and turned to push her shoulder gently back down. She complied with an exasperated sigh – propping her head on the rolled up jacket forming her pillow.

“No, his grounder friend saved your life.” Bellamy returned, ignoring her scowl. “That’s two grounders we’ve allowed in this camp, two potential spies, which means he owes us an explanation.”

“That’s semantics and you know it! He saved my life and in return he doesn’t have to tell you anything he doesn’t want to.” Clarke argued.

Bellamy met the grounders eyes. “He wants to stay in this camp, then hell yeah he does.”

“They’re his people, Bellamy,” Clarke appealed, “he’s not going to betray them. I won’t ask that of him.”

“You’re not the one asking.” Bellamy stated, “You’re lucky I’m even asking at all – there are a lot less nice ways I could be going about this.”

“Try it and see how long I stick around.” Clarke snapped.

“Sometimes we have to make difficult decisions, Princess,” he said sincerely, “It’s not easy being a leader.”

“You’re right,” she nodded, “But we’re not monsters.”

The grounder looked interestedly from him to Clarke, before settling on her face. He gently swept a lock of hair behind her ear and Bellamy fought the urge to roll his eyes. Fought and lost.

“What my people are doing to your people is wrong.” He kept his eyes locked with Clarke’s, but the grounder sounded like he was going to cooperate and Bellamy inwardly crowed. “I will not leave you now, therefore I have accepted my fate.”

“How are we supposed to trust anything you tell us?” Bellamy’s eyebrows lifted sardonically. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a reason no one here is about to form a Grounder welcoming committee.”

“I will earn your trust,” he stated, stoically meeting Bellamy’s eyes.

“And until then, I’ll vouch for him,” Clarke lifted her chin defiantly.

Bellamy thought it was entirely possible the grounder had puffed up his chest at that comment. Or he could have been imagining it in the recesses of his brain where he found the two of them comical.

“Not sure your judgements wholly unimpaired at this point, Princess.” He laughed.

“Not all of us are led around by our dicks, Bellamy,” Clarke huffed, “When have you ever known me to put the 100 in danger?”

“I always knew you had one.” He couldn’t help himself. 

“One what?” she looked confused.

“A dick.”

“Oh, shut up, Bellamy.” She sighed.

“You realise this guy had you chained in a cave? Did I imagine that part?” he spread his arms out incredulously.

“He didn’t hurt me,” Clarke was adamant, “In fact, he saved me. That spear that hit Roma was meant for me.”

Bellamy’s nostrils flared. “They still killed three of our people.” 

“You burnt one of our villages to the ground with your flying missiles – this is considered an act of war.” The grounder spoke gruffly.

Clarke grasped the grounder’s arm, looking upset. “With the flares? We were trying to signal the rest of our people, Lincoln. We would never have done it if we knew that was the result. I’m truly sorry.”

The grounder, Lincoln, nodded at her, seemingly accepting her explanation for what it was. Bellamy thought it was ironic, in a very tragic way, that in trying to save their own people in the sky they’d managed to endanger those few on the ground.

“They, not he.” Clarke looked firmly between them both and directed her comment at Bellamy. “You can’t blame the many for the one, or the one for the many. He’s done nothing but help us.” 

She had a point, as much as it killed him to admit it.

“Alright,” Bellamy conceded, “He can stay, for now. But I want some questions answered.”

“Jesus, you never let up....” Clarke began.

Lincoln interrupted their imminent squabble. “What do you want to know?”

“Your people – you say they consider us at war. What does that mean exactly?” Bellamy asked.

“You have trespassed on Trigedakru territory. You have openly attacked a Trigedakru village. Heda will do everything she can to have you removed.” Lincoln’s voice was bleak.

“Heda?” Clarke asked quietly.

“Anya is the leader of my unit in the Woods Clan – Lexa is Commander of the twelve clans.” Lincoln explained.

“Your leaders are female?” Bellamy asked absently. He’d been expecting some big brute of a warrior to be leading the rest of the brutish warriors with grunts and nods of his giant head. Someone named Bruno or Caesar – not that Caesar was really a brute – not if history was to be believed.

“Your leader is a ‘woman’.” Lincoln told him straight faced.

“I love how you completely ignored the twelve clans part of that sentence,” Clarke scoffed.

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “I heard, I was just querying the most astonishing part.” He was joking, but as usual the princess mounted her high horse.

“Can you spell misogynist?” Clarke asked him in a baby voice.

“Sure. Can you spell feminist?” he winked at her.

“I can do you one better, I can show you feminism at it’s best.” Clarke went to rise and Lincoln growled deeply. She looked at him and clearly thought better of it.

“Yes,” Bellamy nodded patronisingly, “you are the perfect example of feminism.”

Clarke pretended to ignore him and asked Lincoln. “Trigedakru – that means Woods Clan?”

“Tree People, yes. You are the Skaikru – Sky People.”

“It seems to me,” Clarke admitted, “that it would be in our best interests to move out of the Trigedakru territory.”

“It would be a start, if nothing else.” Lincoln nodded in agreement.

Bellamy immediately got serious. “And how do you suggest we go about that, Princess? The dropship is the only home these kids know right now. We’re safe within these walls,” he gestured with his arms, “Out there? Who knows how long we’ll survive.”

“I don’t know, Bellamy,” she said honestly, “But we’ve got to do something.”

 

Clarke

After Bellamy retreated, set to turn the camp to rights after the storm, Clarke turned her face to watch Lincoln crouch down at her side. His face was set in harsh lines, but his eyes were gentle and focused fully on her. Her wound was a taut, slightly itchy ache in the background. She’d watched as he changed the dressing on her bandage this morning – inspecting it as thoroughly as possible before bringing her some water. She’d been whispering her thanks when Bellamy had lost patience with their temporary truce. But in the following conversation he’d revealed a lot about himself, and the more she heard, the more enamoured she felt.

“You must rest,” he said gruffly.

She smiled at him wearily. “If I spent all day resting and left Bellamy to lead them alone it would be anarchy. Total anarchy.”

He laughed gently. “He is not so bad. Slightly impulsive, but he would make a good Second.”

“Second?” she asked.

“In my culture, we have many warriors, and warriors have seconds who train under them.”

“I thought I was a leader! Now I’m a warrior?” she smirked at him.

“You are both.” He told her genuinely.

Clarke went quiet and just stared at him – thinking about how much he had sacrificed to be with her and she didn’t even really know why. He was just there – her protector. And he took this professed job pretty seriously.

“I’d like to see you call Bellamy a Second to his face.” She whispered.

He grinned at her. “Perhaps another time.”

“The idea of having to train him makes me feel nauseous. We really are co-leaders – hard as that is to believe.” 

“It is a balance.” Lincoln smiled his understanding.

She started to rise again and rolled her eyes at the protest she knew was coming. “Seriously, I can’t stay here – aside from being needed around camp, this isn’t exactly comfortable, or private.”

Lincoln looked around and reluctantly nodded his head. Raven had woken mid-conversation with Bellamy, and although she was now trying out the radio again, Clarke knew she had been eavesdropping on everything in their corner. She didn’t really blame her either – it would have been hard not to.

“I will prepare your tent,” he told her, “You will stay here until then.”

“Alright,” Clarke rolled her eyes affectionately, “If I must.”

“You must.” He leant over, threading one large hand in her hair with the thumb caressing her ear lobe, and kissed her on the lips. It was gentle and firm and too brief. But it felt like a claiming all the same.

Crimson crept over her cheeks and she saw his eyes were alight with humour. It wasn’t that she didn’t know this was heading down a romantic route, she just honestly wasn’t expecting him to kiss her. Not yet. In front of other people like it was something he did all the time.

Lincoln took off outside and she let out an astonished chuckle.

“I knew it,” Octavia crowed triumphantly, peering at her one-eyed from her little sleep-faking huddle at the back of the drop ship, “you’re both going to make such cute blonde-haired dark-eyed savage babies!”

“Babies? Jesus, Octavia, don’t hold back.” Clarke laughed.

She threw back her blankets and sauntered over to Clarke. “I just want to say – I totally called this. Jasper so owes me – I’m not sure what he owes me, but he does.”

Clarke went to tell her to keep it quiet and then stopped. There was no point in lying to the others – they’d find out for themselves soon enough. And she wasn’t ashamed of whatever was developing between her and Lincoln – it might be highly irregular, but she had a feeling it would be worth it.

“I want a cut.” She told the grinning girl.

“Here,” Octavia held up Clarke’s spare top and helped her wrangle herself into it. She lay back down afterwards with the blanket pulled up to her chin.

Octavia ran off to go find Jasper to tell him the news and Clarke turned to watch Raven. The girl was being extremely quiet, and Clarke had a feeling she knew some of the reasons behind her reluctance to converse. Now wasn’t really the time to pick at that hornet’s nest though.

“I thought I might have imagined hearing you use the radio last night,” she called out, “Any luck?”

Raven frowned and shook her head. “Nothing – it’s so strange. I thought that maybe we’d connected for a while there when the static changed, but it’s like the Ark’s not even there.”

“That is strange,” Clarke agreed, “Maybe their communications are down?”

“Maybe,” Raven sounded unsure.

“You tried, Raven, that’s all anyone can do.” Clarke sent her an agreeable smile.

“I’ve got the survival database up and running, so that’s something.” Raven smiled back.

“Brilliant!” Clarke enthused, “We can definitely use this – do you think you could search for maps of the surrounding area? I lost mine and we really need to think about moving base.”

Raven tapped away at the unit she’d set up – Clarke could see information rapidly scrolling across the screen before a large map was opened.

“What am I looking for exactly?” she asked.

“We know that the Tree People’s territory extends ten miles North East of us to Mount Weather, and much further to the East from there.” Clarke explained, “I’d say look to the South West to distance ourselves.”

“A city?”

“No, that would be too far, and probably destroyed beyond anything we could salvage – a town maybe. Something that had a few solid structures which might still be standing.”

“On it,” Raven replied.

“I’ll get Lincoln to see if he recognises it when you’ve found somewhere,” she said.

She watched as the delinquents slowly drifted downstairs and made their way outside – yawning and chattering away. Some of them called out to her, others sent her nods and smiles. She was glad to be among them again – unruly though they may be, they were her people.

Lincoln strode into the dropship as a pair were exiting, causing them to back away wide eyed. She guessed it was time to address the issue with the masses before some sort of uprising took hold.

“All good?” Clarke asked him.

He nodded and lifted her into his arms, blanket and all, like she was a sack of grain. “I bet I’m heavier than a sack of grain though.” She mumbled quietly.

Lincoln gave her a peculiar look and nodded to Raven who was openly watching them.

“I’ll tell you when I’ve found something, Clarke,” the young mechanic turned back to the screen.

“Thanks, Raven.” She called as Lincoln carried her outside into the biting cold.

“I can walk you know,” she told him in good humour.

“Then I would not get to carry you,” he grumbled.

Clarke laughed and the air around her clouded with her deep exhales. “Where’s Bellamy? We need to talk about what this weather means.”

Lincoln inclined his chin towards Bellamy who seemed to be organising a hunting party, and getting others to fix together some sort of drying rack – for the meat, she realised. Bellamy was getting ready to cure any meat they found.

Around her she could see the camp cleaning up after the storm – mending the wall, righting the tents and cooking equipment. A few people were scraping ice off the dropship chairs, others were sorting through nuts and berries. She should really give Bellamy more credit, she thought. He might act like an idiot at times, but he wasn’t and she knew better.

Bellamy finished talking and approached them. She huddled closer to the furs around Lincoln’s shoulders and sent Bellamy a wry grin. “Oh, gracious leader, we need to talk.”

“Those are exactly the words a guy likes to hear from a girl. Lead the way.” Bellamy gestured towards Clarke’s tent like the generous host he was.

Lincoln ducked to enter, and strode across the cleared floor to place Clarke down gently on a soft pallet. Furs, Clarke realised, letting her fingers roam – Lincoln had laid down furs for her. She looked around and realised everything of hers, small possessions though they were, was laid out neatly on a large table to one side. A couple of dropship chairs were tucked into recesses in the tents odd shape, and a bowl of water and cloths – along with extra bandages - lay on a stool beside the bed. And rations – he’d placed a bunch of ration pouches and a water container within easy reach.

Clarke didn’t even know where he’d gotten the furs, or the table and chairs. She’d just been making do with the bed and stool. But she was absurdly grateful.

She grinned up at Lincoln. “I think I’m keeping you.”

Bellamy folded his arms across his chest. “What do you need, Princess? I’m a little busy.”

“If we don’t do something about the cold, we’re all going to freeze.” She stated plainly.

“What do you propose?” He was all business now.

“Raven’s checking the database for a town or a village we could relocate to, a way to get out of the crosshairs, but I’m going to ask her if there were any recordings of emergency supply depots in the area.” Clarke decided, “Something that was built to survive nuclear warfare.”

“Alright,” Bellamy agreed, “Anything else?”

“Lincoln. We need to explain his presence.” She said unapologetically.

“Already done.” Bellamy stated.

“What did you say?” she asked, curious.

“I told them you were pregnant with his love child and he was standing by your side like a good gentle-grounder.” Bellamy grinned at her.

“You had better be joking.” Clarke seethed.

Lincoln, to her surprise, started laughing. Bellamy seemed just as surprised as her, but before she could berate him some more, Raven burst into the tent.

“I think I’ve got it,” she exclaimed excitedly, “There’s a town, maybe fifteen miles South West of here called Front Royal. It’s got a couple of old historic buildings that might still be standing.”

“How appropriate,” Bellamy teased, “A royal palace for our princess.”

Raven sent him a disgusted look, but looked to Lincoln and addressed him next. “Do you think you could take a look at the map? See if it’s outside of grounder territory?”

Lincoln nodded, sending Clarke a fleeting glance that somehow warmed her, before leaving with Raven. She looked to Bellamy who was still standing around looking a little baffled. “Just now realising he’s as human as the rest of us, huh?”

Bellamy scowled at her and went to leave. “The supply depot, Bellamy. See if Raven can find one near by.”

He grunted his yes, making her think of Lincoln, and followed after the pair.

She closed her eyes and lay back on the bed. She hadn’t even been awake for long and her wound was already taking its toll on her energy. Hearing the rustle of the curtain door to her tent, she opened her eyes, expecting Lincoln to have popped back for something. Instead she saw Finn, hovering uncertainly at the threshold. 

He looked like he hadn’t slept – purple shadows bruising the underneath of his eye, expanding to a swollen blue-purple over his cheek. She didn’t need to ask what it was from, as she had a sneaky suspicion the fighting didn’t stop when she was delirious or wallowing in the blackness of her mind. He looked contrite. She didn’t blame him entirely for what had happened – he hadn’t meant to stab her – that she knew. But he had meant to hurt Lincoln. He had reached for that knife – upped the level of the fight to critical. And he hadn’t listened to a word she said. If she was totally honest, she wasn’t sure she was ready to see him yet. On some level, the way he’d behaved had actually scared her. He’d been beyond reason.

“Clarke,” he sounded choked, taking a small step forward, “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

“I know, Finn,” she decided to go for a truce, “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. It’s okay.”

He visibly let go of the tension he’d been holding and paced straight for her, reaching out. She quickly put up her hands to ward him off and he froze, looking bewildered.

“I forgive you for hurting me,” she continued, “And I can forgive you for Raven. But things haven’t changed between us – we’re not together.”

Something ugly flashed across Finn’s expression and it gave her chills. “Me and Raven aren’t together anymore. If you really forgive me, then there’s nothing standing in our way.”

“I forgive you, I do,” Clarke expanded, appealing to him with a gentle smile, “But I haven’t forgotten what you did. It’s too late for us now – it’s better if we’re just friends.”

“Is this about that savage?” he spat at her, his fists curled.

“He’s not a savage.” Clarke could feel her temper rising.

“He’s not right for you,” Finn fumed, “He’s...”

“He is what?” Lincoln interrupted, entering Clarke’s tent and manoeuvring himself between Clarke and the angry boy immediately.

Finn’s nostrils flared and he grumbled under his breath. He sent Clarke a wistful look before backing out of the tent, his eyes hard upon Lincoln.

“Are you alright?” Lincoln asked her. His voice was restrained – she could tell he felt like beating Finn and she made a mental note to try and break him of the habit.

“Everything’s fine,” she assured him, “It’s over with.”

She sincerely hoped that was true, but Finn had been surprisingly her a lot lately. Lincoln looked at her sceptically, but decided to go with it.

“We have found a bunker, half a day’s walk from here,” he told her, “Bellamy and I will go together.”

“That’s great,” Clarke said, feeling relieved, “If you give me ten minutes I can be ready to go.”

“I think you may have a head wound,” Lincoln sat on the side of her little nest and peered at her forehead thoughtfully.

“Very funny,” she sighed, “But you two, out in the wilds alone? Not a comforting thought.”

“Do you trust me?” he leant forward and moved his face closer to hers and she darted her eyes down to his lips. He was looming over her, like a show of strength, and his voice had that gruff tone she was coming to anticipate.

“Strangely, yes. I do.” She reached out, gripping the sides of his face, and kissed him this time.

She softly caught the bottom of his lip between her teeth, and the sound of him groaning sent tingles shooting up her body. He intensified the kiss, one arm reaching for her hip, gripping it firmly, whilst the other supported his body weight over her injured side. Clarke’s hands took on a life of their own – roaming across his broad shoulders and down his strong back to his narrow hips. She clung to them, caressing the bits of skin revealed when his top lifted slightly. The hand at her hip slowly moved up her ribs, taking her top with it.

Then the sound of someone clearing their throat loudly interrupted their moment and Clarke moaned a complaint. Lincoln pecked her lips a few times lightly before backing away. His eyes were molten and she’d never felt more alive. The second he was gone she missed his warmth and cursed Raven internally.

“Babysitter A, reporting for duty.” she announced with a grin.

“The boy you call Spacewalker,” Lincoln said sternly, shocking both girls, “He is not to come here. He is not to see her.”

Raven’s eyes were enormous, but she nodded her agreement. “That’s cool – we’ll create a Finn-free zone five feet around the tent.”

Clarke laughed lightly. She wanted to protest having a babysitter, but didn’t have the drive to argue with him when he’d just been so sweet.

“Who’s Babysitter B?” she asked instead.

“That would be me,” Octavia sprung into the tent, full of smiles.

“Hot grounder dude,” she grinned at Lincoln.

He gave her a perplexed look and ignored her greeting, turning to Clarke. “Rest.”

“Yes, sir,” she sassed.

He sent her an uncompromising smile and left the three girls alone.

“Be careful.” She yelled at his retreating back.

“So, girl time!” Octavia trilled, dragging one of the seats closer to Clarke, “I think we should play truth or dare.”

Clarke groaned in misery.


	7. Bonding Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the characters, events and world of The 100 – that honour goes to Kass Morgan and the writers for the (amazing) TV show. This story, though, is all mine baby!

Clarke

“This is actually kind of fun,” Clarke admitted, feeling surprised at her pressing need to say it out loud. 

They’d been playing more truth than dare, thankfully, but there was a lot Clarke was discovering about the other two girls and it felt nice. Different, but nice. She was also discovering she liked ‘girl time’. Her interactions with Wells had always been pretty gender neutral – chess, watching sports, talking politics. The idea of gossiping, boy-talk and braiding hair had never passed her mind – but when Octavia had shuffled closer and started pulling on the front of her blonde locks, she’d let it happen. 

Now her hair was littered with little plaits, tucked into her wavy mass, and Octavia had declared her officially ‘grounder-girly for your grounder man’. She’d protested that statement, even while secretly wondering what Lincoln would think of Octavia’s work.

Octavia grinned at her from the foot of the bed where she was lounging horizontally across the furs. Her head was propped up by her elbow and she’d formed a little nest for herself, borrowing from the abundance of coverings Lincoln had supplied

“I told you so.” She somehow pulled off a look that was part indulgent smile, part eye roll, without looking like a complete idiot.

Clarke laughed lightly and looked to Raven, who was watching them both quietly from the chair Octavia had long vacated. Her eyes had turned a little bit distant and Clarke worried it was because of her. Because of unaddressed issues that might have developed between them despite this camaraderie. They hadn’t once mentioned Finn since Lincoln’s firm declaration, and luckily he’d left the girls to their own devices and they hadn’t seen him once.

“Everything okay, Raven?” she asked cautiously.

Raven shook her head lightly, like she was emerging from a trance. “Sure,” she smiled, but Clarke noted it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Okay,” Octavia burst out, “Let’s address the elephant in the room. The big boy-shaped elephant.” She sat up and glanced fervently between them. “The floppy haired elephant. The elephant named…”

“Alright, Octavia,” Clarke interrupted, laughingly. “We know which elephant you’re talking about.” She pushed herself up on the pillows behind her, looking at Raven alertly.

“I’ve never really had this,” Raven said hesitantly, talking slowly and evenly, “I mean, I’ve had friends, but I’ve never had girl-friends, if you know what I mean.”

Clarke nodded her head in agreement alongside Octavia, wondering where this was going. She too was surprised how much the three of them had in common in this regard, though for apparently different reasons.

“Growing up,” Raven continued, “I only had Finn. My mother would have sold me for rations if given half the chance – instead she traded away my rations. Finn was the boy next door – he gave me his rations – he made sure I was fed and in doing so he kept me alive. For me, he was my family. He was everything…But I wasn’t everything for him.”

Clarke’s stomach sank at the sorrow and betrayal she detected behind Raven’s statement. “I didn’t know,” her honest but guilt-laden words felt stuck in her throat, “I didn’t know you existed, Raven.”

“I know that.” Raven nodded, her eyes slightly glassy. “And it’s okay – I’m learning to make do without him – that he isn’t everything. I’m learning that I can do better.” 

“Too fucking right.” Octavia mumbled.

“I’m really sorry.” Clarke added sincerely.

“I know that, too.” Raven offered her a small smile, “Kind of helps that you’ve clearly got something going on with Mr Tall, dark and savage.”

“Ooh, I like that nickname – very apropos!” Octavia piped up, and Clarke felt herself blush. She was doing a lot of that lately.

“About your mother too.” She inserted, hurrying to get the topic away from her complex love life. “I’m very sorry you had a mom like that.”

Raven grinned. “We can’t all have Abby for a Mom! She really loves you, you know that?”

Clarke grimaced, her mood instantly turning black. “I used to know that.”

Deep furrows appeared on Raven’s forehead and she emphasised her words, her face glowing with sincerity. “She does.”

Clarke wondered how Raven could possibly know her mother well enough to know this. She was the chief medic, so their meeting wasn’t entirely out of the realms of possibility. But something told her it was a recent admiration Raven had developed. Recent and under strange circumstances.

Coming to a sudden realisation, Clarke grumbled. “She helped you come down here, didn’t she?”

Raven nodded enthusiastically. “She was going to come too but the guards were closing in and she had to distract them so I could finish fitting the pressure regulator.”

When Clarke continued to frown, Raven added firmly. “You’re lucky. She’s willing to die for you, not many of us can say the same.”

Clarke took a deep breath to calm the anger that recently swarmed inside her at thoughts of her mom, and turned her solemn gaze to her lap. “But she didn’t die - my father did - and she’s the one who betrayed him to the council. I don’t know if I can ever forgive her for that.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Raven and Octavia pass stunned and sympathetic glances between themselves, and she distractedly fretted with her hands. She wasn’t liking the new direction the conversation had taken either – she really didn’t want to talk about her mom. It felt like her recent past was a minefield and no one had given her a map to navigate a safe path.

“Well, Bellamy was my best friend.” Octavia anounced into the convening silence. Clarke jolted her eyes to the now grinning girl.

“I don’t know whether to feel sorry for you, or sorry for him.” Raven replied.

Clarke couldn’t help but laugh as Octavia scowled playfully at Raven. It lightened the mood slightly, though there was so much that could darken it she was actually feeling better for having talked some of it out. She couldn’t change everything that had happened – she just had to find ways to deal with it. With the help of some new friends, maybe.

“Wells was mine,” she offered sadly.

“Can’t say I liked Jaha Jnr all that much.” Octavia told her, her tone frank. “But I’m sorry you lost him all the same.”

“Me too.” Clarke tipped her lips up at the honest statement.

“Enough with the heavy,” Octavia cheered, rubbing her palms together. “Let’s have some more fun.” 

Clarke grinned at the younger girl’s enthusiasm. “Your turn, Raven.”

Raven smirked, but this time Clarke was thankful the happiness reached her eyes. “Dare.”

“I dare you to steal Miller’s hat – but in a flirtatious manner.” Octavia announced.

“Dammit,” Raven huffed, “I’ve already had to ask him where the bathroom is, knowing full well there is no bathroom, and then offer him my nuts in exchange for his because I ‘like his more’. He’s going to think I’m genuinely nuts after this.”

She rose to her feet, muttering darkly, and Octavia excitedly jumped to hers. They snapped out of the tent in two polar opposite moods.

“This I have got to see,” Clarke announced to the empty room. She got up from the bed stiffly, holding her side to resist straining the wound, and wandered after her two companions.

The chill in the air had lifted slightly with the suns appearance, but she still shivered from the loss of the warmth her tent provided. Activities in the camp were still buzzing – the hunting party having come back with several wild pigs they proceeded to butcher and hang on the drying racks to heat. The air tasted of salt and smoke, but the over-riding scent of cooking meat made Clarke’s stomach rumble in response.

Miller was conversing with two guys in a huddle, Sterling and Dax she thought, and he was waving his arms around animatedly. Not angrily though, more like he was entertaining them with a story. She hoped it wasn’t about Raven, because who knew what she’d do if she heard.

As she watched, Raven approached him from the side, her movements slow and practised. Miller sensed her and abruptly stopped talking. He turned to face her, raising one eyebrow in enquiry. Raven didn’t say a word, just smirked as she reached his elbow and leaned into him, bracing one hand on the curve of his arm, and bringing the other up to gently sweep his hole-ridden beanie hat from his head. He let her do it – his eyes locked with hers in silence.

“Thanks,” Raven sighed, tipping her face close to his so their cheeks almost touched, before she spun on the spot to return.

Miller shot out an arm to stop her, pulling her back into him with a palm spread at her waist, and whispered something heatedly into her ear. Whatever he said made Raven jerk back, but that wasn’t done in anger either, more astonishment. She threw him a perplexed look and pushed away from his firm hold.

Raven rushed towards them, Miller grinning cockily at her speedy departure. Clarke supressed her own giggles, but Octavia had no such compulsion and was overcome. They burst out in infectious gales as Raven came to a disgruntled stop.

“What did he say?” Clarke smiled encouragingly.

“I’m not repeating a word of that for my own sanity.” Raven turned a sly glance on Clarke. “You hungry?” 

“I could eat.” Clarke replied warily.

“I dare you to walk over and ask for some meat, enough for two, and then walk back to the tent, devouring it all while rubbing your extended lower stomach.” Raven demanded.

“I don’t have an extended lower stomach!” Clarke said, horrified.

“Puff it out, girlfriend.”

She completely ignored Octavia, who was now bent in two with puffs of air surrounding her like little clouds. The minute Raven finished, Octavia started cackling again and Clarke rolled her eyes.

“Really, Raven?” she grouched, torn between annoyance and admiration at the tactics being deployed, “You sure I shouldn’t ask for meat for three and pretend I’m having twins?”

“Excellent idea, Mommy Clarke!” she trilled.

Clarke sucked it up, or out as the case may be, and stomped towards the food area, thoroughly disregarding the snickers behind her.

 

Bellamy

They had reached the reported location of the bunker in good time – though neither of them had spoken much to each other along the way. Instead of the silence being uncomfortable, Bellamy had found it a relief. It gave him a chance to think without anyone demanding something from him. It also allowed him to take his measure of Lincoln, the newest member of their motley crew. 

He was something else when it came to navigating the terrain of the forest, and Bellamy was a little bit in awe. He made no noise when he walked, and although he seemed relaxed, Bellamy got the impression he was more alert than a starving owl watching for mice. Those skills right there were something they definitely needed if they were going to survive on Earth.

“Over here.” Lincoln called, pulling him out of his musings.

Bellamy’s eyes swept over the derelict ruins of Roman-esque pillars in the distance, over the large body of water surrounded by leafless trees and yellowing marshland, to where the grounder stood kneeling, brushing plant life away to reveal a metal hatch.

He strode over to help lift the heavily rusted doorway, grunting with the effort. The dark passageway it revealed smelt heavily of damp and rot, and didn’t in any way look inviting. But it felt a little like finding a pirate ship with unknown booty to plunder.

Bellamy eagerly jumped down onto the first step and started making his way into the dank space ahead. Lincoln followed cautiously, his eyes swinging around and swiftly over the ragged corpse collapsed on the bottom of the stairway. Bones outfitted in a decaying uniform. Bellamy wondered if the guy had died of natural causes, or if he’d starved when supplies had run out, or even killed himself in the echoing halls of loneliness that must have developed.

The weak light from their entrance revealed a large, dirty red and white sign proclaiming ‘EMERGENCY AID DEPOT.’ At least he knew they had the right place. He opened up his backpack and took out two of the emergency torches – he turned them on and handed one to Lincoln who grunted his thanks.

They walked slowly through the square halls, glancing around at the revolting remainders of the protected bunker. The elements had completely ravished it – walls had caved in and everything was broken to pieces – it was all destroyed. Water dropped from gaps in the ceiling, and streaked in grim lines down the cement walls to run in rivulets and form dirty looking pools on the exposed floors – exposure then, Bellamy thought. If the water could get in, then so could the radiation.

“Careful.” Lincoln’s deep voice echoed off the walls enclosing them. Bellamy sidestepped the jagged piece of metal he was about to walk into and nodded his thanks.

“So much for living down here,” he voiced his thoughts, “This place is disgusting.”

He picked at the empty storage containers frustratingly, and glared at the rotten remains in the ones left partially open. “Everything’s ruined, and if it’s not ruined, it’s already been taken.”

“Blankets.” Lincoln stated calmly, his face tilted to view the contents of one of the few closed plastic storage boxes.

“Fantastic.” Bellamy snarked. Blankets were great – Clarke wanted blankets. They needed blankets. What he really wanted was some weapons – something to defend their camp. Keep them alive for more than the mere two weeks they’d been on the ground. 

Lincoln rose one brow in response and straightened up. “If you do not want to freeze to death, then yes, it is fantastic.”

Bellamy sighed. “I was hoping for something a little more helpful.”

“Not freezing to death is helpful to your survival.” Lincoln added.

“No shit.” Bellamy muttered. Lincoln snorted and shook his head at him.

Bellamy wandered off, pulling the lid off one of the numerous large metal vats taking up the space. He dipped a finger in the dark liquid. “Grease.” He muttered in disgust. 

He kicked out carelessly at the drum in frustration, and watched it keel over, splattering the already filthy floor with more sodden muck. But when several metallic clanks were heard, large objects spilling onto the floor, Bellamy took a closer look at the contents the liquid had been obscuring.

“Oh my god.” He gasped. He crouched down and reached for the nearest black assault rifle, feeling giddy. “This is what I’m talking about!”

Lincoln frowned at him thoughtfully. “So this is the kind of helpful you meant.”

“Not being speared to death is helpful to my survival too.” Bellamy told him seriously.

“My people have a story, a warning told to children and adult alike.” Lincoln stated, his words uncertain. “If one of us was to touch a gun, any weapon other than those we make by hand, the mountain men would come for us.”

“Hate to tell you this,” Bellamy rose, gripping the slick weapon carefully, “But I’m not a grounder – stories like that don’t frighten me.”

“They should.” Lincoln replied.

“Who are these mountain men? And don’t tell me they live in the mountain – that part was pretty clear.”

Lincoln’s words were again cautious. “They are the enemy.” 

“Not big on sharing, huh?” Bellamy laughed lightly, and gestured between them. “Something tells me the three of us – me, you and Clarke – need to have a proper sit down when this is through.” 

Bellamy meant every word. As a grounder, there was countless information he knew, probably things he didn’t even realise he had stored away, that could benefit them. If he was serious about leaving his people, then he should be serious about helping them survive.

“That is probably a good idea.” Lincoln agreed.

“See if you can find something to carry the blankets back,” Bellamy said, “I’ll sort out the guns so you don’t have to touch them.”

“There was an insult in there somewhere.” Lincoln stated.

Bellamy shrugged and smirked. “Like I’d insult the dude who could kill me with his bare hands.” 

“That would indeed be unwise.” Lincoln grinned good-naturedly.

Bellamy laughed and turned away to complete his task. He began searching for something strong he could use to cart around the guns – there was no fucking way he was leaving them behind. Lincoln could believe in his folk tales all he liked, but Bellamy was not buying it. 

He spied some army-issue mesh – the kind used to camouflage soldiers and equipment in forestry. He tore it away from the debris it was settled over and tugged it back from a few loose rocks. His head began pounding when the movement jarred him so he fell against the wall at its release.

He thought that maybe the confined space was getting to him. Or the damp – it was even odds. His vision blurred and he shook away the nausea. Not that it helped any – if anything it made him feel worse.

He dragged the mesh netting over to Lincoln and began throwing the guns from the first barrel into the spread fabric. One after another he grabbed them from all the oil vats and threw them to the floor. The fumes from the oil made his stomach revolt and he stood up suddenly when the last one was secure in the make-shift carrier, swaying from the momentum.

“Is everything alright?” Lincoln watched him strangely. He’d fashioned a similar carrier from some nearly unrecognisable flags – for some reason this felt odd to Bellamy. The red, the white and the blue – Earth wasn’t about nations anymore, it was just about survival. He shook his head again in denial.

“I need some air.” Bellamy rasped. 

He blustered away from Lincoln and his assessing eyes, pushing his feet to work properly as they stumbled blearily towards the surface. He emerged in the cool air, drinking it down in huge gulps. This stopped, along with what felt like his heart, when footsteps met his ears and he looked up into a familiar face. 

 

Raven

The girls had given up on playing truth or dare when it became apparent they were each trying to dredge up as humiliating a dare as possible for the other, and if one of them chose truth it was no easy admittance. Octavia had been made to follow Jasper around for fifteen minutes straight, repeating every word that came out of his mouth. When it had turned dirty she’d sent them looks that should have killed. If only looks could. It had been fun – really fun - but they’d all started to get tired and were lounging around sleepily, listening to the familiar humdrum of camp.

She might have dropped off for a little while, but she jolted awake when the tent flap was pushed violently aside and someone came charging in. He bent low over the two girls in the bed and waved his arms widely to encompass the room.

“You can’t change the tide if the moon won’t cooperate!” he yelled frantically, “It’s basic physics!”

“What the hell, Monty!” Octavia griped, wiping sleep from her eyes.

He nodded at them like he’d made total sense – hadn’t abruptly ended their nap – and then fled the scene. All three girls shared a what-the-actual-fuck glance, and she and Octavia clambered to their feet. The noises from camp had taken on a curious tone – it sounded like people were both having a party, and attending a funeral. Weeping – jubilant shouts – strange mutterings and wailings. All of it echoed around them – it sounded like pure mayhem.

Clarke slowly rose, looking worried. “Stay in here,” Raven told her, “We’ll check it out.”

Raven and Octavia strode out of the tent into chaos. By the fire, several people stood muttering to themselves – others were wandering around having serious debates with invisible people. One boy was stripping gleefully by the meat racks, and several people were weeping as though their life depended on it. Raven startled and looked beside her when someone wrapped their arm around her shoulder.

“I want to give Earth a giant hug.” Monty sighed into her skin.

She shrugged him off and stuck her head back in the tent. “Scratch that, get out here.”

Clarke exited and stared about her in wonder. Three of the delinquents sailed past, their arms extended out like aeroplanes. A girl by the fire looked down at her hands and started cackling madly. “What the hell is going on?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Raven told her.

Miller rose from his place at the fire and knelt before Clarke. He grasped her hips before planting his face in her stomach, mumbling a litany of words neither of them understood at first. He moved his face back and repeated himself.

“Baby! Baby, baby, baby. Little grounder – little spear – little boots – little ears!” He chanted.

She met Clarke’s eyes and tried not to laugh at the horrified expression she sported. She was so going to remind Miller of this when he came to his senses. Repeatedly. Clarke removed Miller’s arms and pushed him away in embarrassment. He kept up his mumbling – crawling to the person next to him.

Jasper came running out of the dropship, stuffing his face with a packet of rations, and the minute he spied Octavia he headed determinedly for her.

“I love you and I want you to know this.” He announced loudly to Octavia and everyone in the vicinity.

They all laughed at his bold behaviour. He started staring outside the walls distractedly, gingerly peering through one of the gaps as though fascinated.

“Is this all you’ve eaten?” Octavia asked him, grabbing the nuts from his loose grip. He nodded furiously, reaching out a hand to touch her hair. 

“You’re totally bombed.” She decided on a chuckle.

Jasper suddenly went totally still and screamed, “Grounders!”

Some people started to stare – others lit up in panic. They all looked around – searching for the cause of his statement. When Raven realised there was nothing there, she knew it was a figment of his imagination. They were all hallucinating because of the nuts - perfect. She was glad the three of them had abstained from the ration packs and eaten the meat instead – too busy talking for the most part.

“Here buddy, take this.” Octavia sing-songed, picking up a stray branch from the floor.

“A stick?” Jasper looked incredulous at her offering.

“No,” Octavia soothed, “This is an anti-grounder stick.” 

She led him to one of the vacant seats and gently pushed his shoulder until he sat in it. “If you sit right here, holding this stick, the grounders can’t come near you.”

“Makes sense.” He mumbled, gripping the stick for all he was worth. His hands shook and his big eyes darted from side to side, eyeing everyone suspiciously.

Monty started sidling up to her again, his eyes fixated on her boots. Raven backed into the tent with Clarke and Octavia following quickly. They waited approximately five seconds before bursting into peals of laughter.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, “This is just too funny.”

“Bellamy’s going to kill us.” Clarke wheezed.

“This is epic,” Octavia squealed.

 

Lincoln

Lincoln had started lugging the satchels of blankets and guns to the surface to save time. He was eager to get back to Clarke and he had no reservations about showing it. He did, though, have serious hesitation about them bringing the weapons back to the delinquents, and he would tell Clarke of those hesitations when next he saw her. For now, he had to respect the wishes of her co-leader. 

If he was to continue to stay with Clarke, he knew he needed to earn the trust and respect of her partner. Together the two of them held total sway over the camp – separated, it didn’t appear to do anyone any good. He didn’t want to break the precarious friendship the two of them had, but he would not be leaving Clarke’s side. They needed to be united.

When he reached the grassy bank with the last of their load he found Bellamy, stumbling around drunkenly, peering into the misty distance as though he saw a ghost. Or several ghosts if the rapid movement of his head was anything to go by.

“Bellamy?” he asked, instantly stiffening and searching for others – for an unseen enemy. There was no one around – he heard no shuffling – detected no immediate danger.

“Please. Kill me. Kill me!” Bellamy yelled. He fled into the woods and Lincoln gaped after him, unsure of what was happening, before hastily deciding to follow the younger man.

Bellamy hadn’t gone far. He’d sunk to his knees on the forest floor and was gripping his head in his hands – his face looked fevered and Lincoln started to get a nasty suspicion.

“I deserve it!” Bellamy wailed, “I can’t fight anymore.”

“I will not kill you.” Lincoln told him calmly. “No one is going to kill you.”

“What am I supposed to do?!” Bellamy asked desperately. He was looking right at Lincoln, but something told him he wasn’t actually seeing him. Whatever he was seeing was torturing him.

“Stay calm.” Lincoln muttered in what he hoped was a reassuring voice.

“How about you follow your own advice?” The insipid voice startled Lincoln. Usually he was so aware of his surroundings, being caught off guard was a truly rare occurrence.

He turned slowly, gritting his teeth in rage. He wanted to say he hadn’t expected something like this to happen – and to some extent, he hadn’t. He hadn’t thought the spacewalker besotted with his Clarke was brave enough to make this move. But he also recognised obsession when he saw it – maybe because he saw something of his own feelings for the sky people’s healer reflected back at him. The difference was, he wasn’t unhinged by them.

Finn held the gun Bellamy had unknowingly brought with him to the surface, and he had Lincoln locked in his sights.

“You followed us.” 

Finn smirked nastily. “I followed you.”

“To what end?” He slowly edged away from Bellamy, who was now sprawled on the floor in an indelicate heap.

“Yours.” Finn smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile – it was twisted. Warped. Unnatural on the boy’s usually jovial face.

“She doesn’t want you.” Lincoln growled.

“She will.” Finn assured him. “Once you’re a fleeting memory, she’ll turn back to me.”

“You’re deranged.” He stated. Realising it was very true.

“You don’t know her like I do.” Finn spat. Lincoln watched as he heaved in great breaths and his eyes narrowed in spite.

Lincoln laughed dryly – remaining calm in the face of danger. “You don’t know her at all if you think she’ll forgive you for shooting me.”

“She will if it’s self defence.” His nasty smile was back.

“I haven’t harmed you.” Lincoln sneered. Repulsed by the lies and scheming before him.

“She doesn’t need to know that part.” Finn pulled the trigger and the gun jammed.

Lincoln didn’t waste any time – he dove for Finn, disarming him by kicking the gun to the other side of the clearing as they grappled for dominance. The other boy was in fighting form for once, and sent a sharp elbow to Lincoln’s skull when he took him bodily down. He rolled away, a little dazed and his ears ringing.

Finn leapt for the gun, but Lincoln recovered enough to grab his ankle, bringing the boy forcefully down to the floor again. He crawled forwards, avoiding his kicking feet and sent a punch to Finn’s solar plexus that had him curling over into a ball. Lincoln leaned back and Finn struck out, hitting his hip with a booted foot. He grunted, annoyed, and kicked back savagely.

The ricocheting sound and subsequent dirt cloud of a bullet hitting the dirt by their side had him scrambling back and crouching defensively. Bellamy stood scowling down at them. “What the hell is going on? What are you even doing here Finn?”

“He attacked me.” Finn gasped.

“I asked why you were here.” Bellamy stated firmly. Finn moaned in pain and avoided his gaze.

“Finn, even if Lincoln wasn’t around, Clarke still wouldn’t be with you. You’re not thinking clearly.” Bellamy’s voice was stern and unsympathetic.

“You’re the one that’s not thinking clearly,” Finn howled, “Letting a grounder into the camp – letting him shack up with Clarke.”

“Who Clarke shacks up with is none of my business. It’s also none of yours.”

Lincoln smirked at Finn as he scrambled to his feet.

“I’m not living in a camp with a dirty savage.” Finn spat. “It’s him or me.”

Lincoln growled low in the back of his throat. He should have killed the imbecile when he had the chance.

“Then I guess you need to find somewhere else to live.” Bellamy responded slowly.

Lincoln’s eyes shot to him. Was he saying what he thought he was? The support was something he hadn’t expected to receive from the leader…not least for a long while.

“What?” Finn looked as astonished as him. Maybe even more so.

“You heard me.” Bellamy stated unequivocally. “You have to follow the rules the same as everyone else. The grounder is off limits. You don’t want to abide by that, then you’re not welcome.”

Finn glared at Bellamy with manic eyes. “Clarke will never let you get away with this.”

“I think your inadequate knowledge of what Clarke would or would not do has been well established.” Lincoln pointed out.

Finn turned his black eyes on Lincoln and he could practically feel the barely contained rage. The jealousy. But also the fear. “This isn’t the end of this.”

“I would be a fool if I thought it so.” Lincoln acknowledged.

Finn tramped away in the opposite direction to camp while Bellamy and Lincoln watched tensely from their respective positions. When he was out of sight, Bellamy heaved a great sigh and dropped to the floor.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lincoln offered sincerely. He wasn’t talking about the fight with Finn, but the nightmares plaguing Bellamy’s soul. “It was the jobi nuts.”

Bellamy looked at him, as if checking to see if he was being ridiculed. He took another deep breath and muttered. “My mother raised me better, she raised me to be good. If she knew what I’ve done…I’m a monster.”

Lincoln nodded solemnly. He sat down, leaning against a tree base and stared into the canopy of leaves above them.

“When I was a boy, a ship fell from the sky like Raven’s. The man inside was badly hurt, his body broken. I couldn’t get him out…I bought him food and water. I didn’t speak your language yet so I couldn’t understand him. But I wanted to. On the third day I told my father. He made me kill him. The world has been trying to turn me into a monster for as long as I can remember.”

Bellamy stared at him. “So what you’re saying is, everyone down here is a monster?”

Lincoln shook his head in reproach. “No, what I am saying is that we are not the sum of our actions. One bad action does not make us inherently bad. Neither does many bad actions. It is our intentions that decide this.”

“Why Clarke?” Bellamy asked abruptly. Lincoln understood that he was curious about the relationship – he doubted a single member of camp wasn’t. To them it felt sudden – it may even feel that way to Clarke. But it had been building for a while for him.

“I was a scout sent to watch you when you first came,” Lincoln admitted, “I saw how she battled you for what she knew was right. Battled to keep everyone safe and alive. How she saved lives – cared for your people. How she tried to save the young girl who took her own life. She is extraordinary. She is beautiful.”

He didn’t just mean physically, but he somehow knew that Bellamy understood this when he nodded in response.

“So you knew about her and Finn?” Bellamy queried, a strange look on his face.

Lincoln frowned at the reminder. “Yes.”

“Dude,” Bellamy laughed, “I don’t know how you haven’t murdered him by now.”

Lincoln sent him a genuinely perplexed look. “I do not know how I haven’t either.”

 

Clarke

Clarke watched Octavia lead a weeping girl back to the fire – gently coaxing her to stay within the camp’s protective walls. The darkness had settled in fully, and bright torches shone around them, illuminating the weary occupants, winding down after a day of both excitement and confusion.

Raven stood next to her, hugging a still high Connor.

“Tell me again.” He pleaded with her.

“You are the most beautiful broom in a broom closet full of brooms.” Raven sighed. Clarke rolled her eyes and looked up at sounds coming from the gate.

She nearly cheered when Bellamy and Lincoln strode back into camp – inordinately pleased to see the pair of them, even though it hadn’t been nearly as long as she thought it would be before their return.

Lincoln paced straight for her, stopping when he was so close they touched from thigh to ribs. He leaned his forehead against hers and placed his palms gently against her cheeks.

“I have missed you.” He whispered. Clarke melted into his embrace at the tender words.

“Me too.” She told him.

“Alright, love birds,” Bellamy joked, “We’ve got some serious things to discuss.”

“In Clarke’s tent.” Lincoln stated. He lifted her into his arms and walked the short distance to the semi-private shelter.

Bellamy followed behind them and she could see him smirking as Lincoln practically tucked her back into the furs that made her bed. She looked down at the haul he was lugging behind him, finally noticing they hadn’t returned empty handed, and trying to figure out what the odd shapes were. The minute it clicked she gasped.

“Guns, Bellamy?”

“Protection, Princess.” He corrected.

She wanted to argue, but she also knew it made sense. They needed a way to defend themselves. They may have decided to move camp, and therefore remove themselves from the grounder’s immediate territory, but they’d still committed what Lincoln called an act of war. They had no way of knowing what would happen next.

“We need to control who has access.” She demanded.

“And train everyone to use them properly.” He countered. “I know. Already thought of that.”

“Okay, Bellamy.” She answered with a small smile. “We’ll sort it out tomorrow.”

She looked to Lincoln, who didn’t exactly look thrilled at the topic of conversation.

“You understand why we have to have them, don’t you?” she asked softly.

“I understand,” he affirmed, “But I do not like it.”

Clarke took his hand in hers and ran her thumb over his skin. “Maybe you can teach me some of your fighting skills too.”

Lincoln looked to her and smiled back. “I can do that.” 

Clarke’s cheeks warmed and she forgot Bellamy was there until he cleared his throat loudly.

“There’s something else you should know.” He told her.

“Okay.” Clarke drawled.

“Spacewalker attacked Lincoln.” Bellamy stated.

Clarke looked to Lincoln in shock, and saw the truth boldly written on his face. “Oh god. He followed you?”

“I don’t know if he’s coming back – he said he wouldn’t stay in the camp if Lincoln did.” Bellamy warned. “But he’s pretty unstable at the moment. You need to watch out – both of you.”

Clarke nodded, squeezing Lincolns palm. He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and gently kissed her lips, as though trying to wipe away the worry she felt. “I am fine.” He told her firmly.

Bellamy looked like there was something else he wanted to add but he wasn’t sure of himself. Clarke watched a myriad of emotions drift across his face before he settled on determination. 

“This town you and Raven were talking about – we need to send out a scouting party. Gotta make sure it’s liveable.”

Clarke beamed at him in appreciation. “Tomorrow, Bellamy. We’ll sort everything out tomorrow.”

“Right.” He said. He mock saluted them and left for his own bed.

Clarke sank back into her furs with a small sigh. “Will you stay?” she asked Lincoln.

“Where else would I go?” he looked confused.

Clarke chuckled in amusement. She watched as he began undressing – stripping down to his boxer shorts. His tanned skin was a map of scars and tattoos. Assorted tribal looking bands wrapped around his left bicep, daggered spears down the inside of his right arm, and running down his upper chest from his collar bones. More tribal scroll work across his right hip and back. Small raised circles across his shoulder blade.

When he bent over her and shuffled her along, joining her under the covers, she was distracted by the urge to touch every single one of them. Taste them even.

He smiled down at her, kissing her forehead, her eyelids, her cheekbones and then her lips. The kiss lingered – it was sweet and affectionate and it told her that he really had missed her. His hand caressed the edges of her bandage, before he toyed with the braids in her hair.

“You need sleep.” He declared.

“It doesn’t even hurt anymore.” Clarke lied in protest.

His gruff chuckle sent a flurry of warmth to her heart. “Sleep, my Princess. There is always tomorrow.”


	8. Tomorrow Is Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the characters, events and world of The 100 – that honour goes to Kass Morgan and the writers for the (amazing) TV show. This story, though, is all mine baby!

Clarke

Clarke squinted at the weak sunlight filtering through the grey and red parachute fabric forming the some-what circular walls of her tent. She could hear the faint trill of birds in the tree tops, and the soft sounds of early risers seeking their breakfast. She was also feeling extraordinarily warm and snug due to the muscular arm Lincoln had settled over her torso to draw her into his chest, and the heavy leg nestled over both of hers. She’d slept on her back to protect her healing side, using his bicep as a pillow, and she’d woken with her face pressed into his neck so the tip of her nose was touching his skin. He smelt of the forest – earthy and fresh – and every time she took a breath she relaxed deeper into the furs cocooning them.

She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to happily drift. It was just so genuinely nice to not feel so alone. She had felt that with Finn, for a brief time – a sense of solidarity, a common purpose and attraction. Except there was something about Lincoln that made her feel all of those things, yet she also felt protected…and cherished – two sensations she didn’t even know she valued until he started giving them to her.

Clarke knew it was unusual, the connection they’d developed in a short span of time. But things happened on earth at such an accelerated pace. They were all constantly adjusting to this new reality – struggling to both survive and find a reason to want to. The rest of her people might find it a little confusing…a little bizarre that she was connected to a grounder – their fast growing enemy – yet they’d adapt. If there was one thing they were all finding they possessed in spades, it was adaptability.

It wasn’t as though Clarke would even know what to say if someone did ask her about Lincoln. They’d never really talked about it, defined it or questioned it – it had sort of sprung into existence – these potent, irrefutable feelings. Maybe they should have, for their own sake, but there never seemed to be time.

“What troubling thought is causing those wrinkles to dance across your forehead?” Lincoln’s voice was gruff with sleep and his breath tickled the top of her hair.

Clarke smiled contentedly and tilted her head back to stare into his dark half-lidded eyes.

“I was thinking about us.” She whispered.

“And that made you frown?” The arm around her waist tightened.

“No,” Clarke corrected. “It made me wonder.” 

Lincoln jostled her closer so she turned onto her good side, and he tilted his chin down to gaze into her eyes. Her hands burrowed against his warm skin like they had a mind of their own. She didn’t think she’d ever get over how powerful his gaze could be. “What did it make you wonder?”

“Whether we’re crazy to feel this way.” Clarke blurted, searching his eyes. Lincoln frowned down at her and she hurried to explain.

“We’re supposed to be enemies, yet you saved me…twice actually. You cared for me when I was hurt. You protected me…you still do protect me. You became an outcast to your people…for me. Now we’re here…sharing a tent, and we hardly even know each other.” Clarke took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

He didn’t speak for a while – just enough time for anxiety to fester, and she began wishing she’d never spoken of her insecurities at all. Then he moved forward and kissed her temple, keeping his lips against her skin so his words gently swept over her. She closed her eyes in relief and her untrapped hand gripped his back.

“Crazy would be to ignore what grows between us. It is rare – to feel so strongly for another. In times of war, this is even more so.” His hand drifted up and around from her hip, settling between her shoulder blades to press their chests together, making Clarke’s breath hitch. The fingers of the arm she still lay on slid through her fanned out hair to grip the base of her neck. “My Heda, my people – they say that love is a weakness. I see none of that weakness in you. When I saved you that first time, I knew then I would not let you go – and I stand by that.”

Clarke grinned at him shyly. It wasn’t a declaration of love, she knew that, but it made her feel warm and bashful all the same. “That’s good, because I’m not letting you go either.”

Lincoln’s eyes burned and he pulled her into a kiss – it was deep and passionate, the kind that spread tingles from her lips all the way to the bottom of her spine, and Clarke felt like little pieces of her soul flew away and attached themselves to his for safe keeping. It was both scary and thrilling, pretty much akin to everything she shared with him.

He growled slightly when he pulled away and the hand at her back moved over her neck and shoulders to tenderly grip her chin. “You are wrong, also – we do know each other.” 

Clarke looked at him a little dazed and he told her – his voice thick. “I know that you are brave, compassionate, and beautiful. Here,” he swept his fingers over her cheek,” and here,” his hand drifted to rest against her heart which started to beat faster of it’s own accord. “I know you are a respected healer, and that your people listen to you because they sense your strength and your integrity. I know you are accepting, and fair – and most of all, forgiving.” 

His words sent a rush of affection through her. She had known, before this, that he had probably been watching the camp - watching them. It was a classic strategy when facing an unknown entity – reconnaissance 101. There was no other way he could have known who she was, or cared enough to save her the first time without that knowledge. That he had taken such an interest in her as an individual was humbling.

“You’re right,” she told him, a teasing smile curving her lips, and she brought the hand tucked between them up to hold his cheek, “I know that you’re protective, and fierce, and loyal – and your loyalty is not blind. I know that you are a valiant warrior who makes me feel incredibly safe, and that you are a good man with a strong heart.”

“Then you will stop wondering.” He ordered. Clarke muffled her laugh against his neck at his imperious tone.

“I think you’re beautiful too.” She said the words gently against his skin.

He grunted. “I’m a man. Men aren’t beautiful.” It set Clarke into a round of giggles – God, did it feel good to have something to laugh about. He rolled his eyes at her and hugged her close as she calmed down.

“Do you miss your people?” She tilted her lips up to murmur into his ear. His hand slid to the back of her neck again and he buried his fingers in her hair to keep her where she was.

“Some.” His voice rumbled and she felt the vibrations through their joined chests. She drew back again to watch his expression. His face was impassive – stoic. His eyes - they were like two deep, heated pools of black – hard to read and intensely focused.

She lifted a hand up to run it across his scruffy jaw and met his forceful gaze. “What about if we tried for peace? Would your Heda listen?”

“I’m not in a position to negotiate for peace. Anya might be reasoned with, but she is much angered by your presence – many are, and she must listen to the rumblings of her people.” The corners of his lips turned down.

“What does that mean?” Clarke asked worriedly.

“I know much of war strategy – she will be planning retaliation. I have not returned as I should have done and she will know by now that I am a splita. But if you ask it of me, I will go.”

“No.” Clarke shook her head in fervent denial. “It’s not worth the risk.”

“If we were to do it, we must do it soon.”

“No.” Clarke repeated firmly. “Let’s stick to the plan for now – we’ll scout the new location, and if everything is safe, we’ll move out of the Woods Clan territory. That ought to buy us some time, then we can try for a truce.”

Lincoln pulled her in for another kiss – it was teasing this time and her toes curled at the laziness of it. “If we must.” He said gruffly.

“We must.” She chuckled against his lips – peppering the sides of them with little kisses. 

“How do you say ‘my warrior’ in trigedasleng?” The look he gave her was enough to make a person spontaneously combust, as it was she felt a familiar heat eclipse her skin.

“Ai gona.” He rumbled.

Clarke pulled both hands up to cradle his face and she stared into his blazing eyes, her words sincere. “Ai gona.”

“Yun.” (Yours) Lincoln growled, before rolling to her to her back and swallowing her words with his hungry mouth.

 

Bellamy

Bellamy watched Miller correct Raven’s shooting stance for the third time in as many minutes and waited for the imminent outburst. After ascertaining Miller was a decent shot, the two of them had started training select camp members, as trustworthy and responsible ones as they could find, and had been at it for the better part of an hour. Bellamy was definitely thankful the abundance of trees made for multiple large targets to practise on, because they weren’t nearly ready to be let loose on the world. 

Most people he’d trained had been pretty lousy to begin with, but the more they practised the better they got – some of them were even hitting the right tree now. And a blessed few were naturals – Raven was one of these. Which meant there wasn’t anything wrong with the way she was standing, and he had a feeling Miller knew that too. It was just an excuse to rub her nerves raw and Bellamy didn’t really want to be in the middle of it, even if it was funny as hell.

He wasn’t disappointed when moments later the zero-g mechanic turned her gun on Miller, causing him to back away with his hands in the air. It probably would have been fine, if he hadn’t chosen that moment to smirk unrepentantly and step forward with an outstretched hand to alter her grip minutely.

“Maybe it’s the target that’s the problem,” Raven snarled, pulling the gun away from Miller, “Why don’t I try a moving one and see if my stance bears up to your expert scrutiny?”

“I don’t know, Raven.” Miller demurred. “That might be too challenging for you at this stage. But if you let me, I can show you how it might be done.”

If fury were something both visible and tangible, it would be in the steam rising from Raven’s entire being. She took up a steady shooting stance, her shoulder pulled back, and got Miller in her sights.

“Alright!” Bellamy supressed his laughter, but he put as much authority into his voice as possible. “That’s enough you two – stop flirting.”

“Flirting?!” Raven spat the words like they’d tasted nasty. “Put your puppy on a leash, Bellamy, or else.”

“I told you she liked me.” Miller nodded sagely. “Bondage is a sign of true love.”

He wasn’t surprised when Raven threw the gun to the ground and stormed off, muttering expletives under her breath.

He glanced at Miller to find him watching Raven’s retreat with a thoughtful look on his face. “Are you serious with this? You’re like an accident waiting to happen.”

“As a grounder attack.” Miller grinned and turned to help Harper.

Bellamy sighed and looked back at the hodgepodge of tents forming the main part of their camp to see Clarke finally emerge from her tent.

“About time, Princess!” Bellamy called out to get her attention.

She blushed and hurried over to him, her eyes pleading with him to stop talking. He watched Lincoln emerge moments later, his eyes immediately homing in on Clarke as if he hadn’t just spent all night with her. Bellamy recognised the possessive look Lincoln sported, and whereas before it might have made him wary, he was beginning to come around to the idea of Lincoln being on their side.

“Is that a love bite on your neck?” He teased the minute she reached him.

Clarke’s hand shot up but faltered mid air when she realised he was only messing with her. Bellamy laughed delightedly when she scowled in irritation. She always made it too easy for him.

“I like this look on you, Princess.” Bellamy said honestly. “Makes you seem more human.”

“I am human, Bellamy. It’s the rest of you I’m not so sure of.” Clarke laughed when he gave her a surprised look. He’d been expecting her to get in a snit, not make a joke. Seemed whatever was happening between her and Lincoln was softening some of her edges, and he had to say he liked it.

“So, how many people are we thinking for this scouting party? Eight?” Bellamy said a number off the top of his head.

“Sure,” Clarke agreed, “Seems like a safe enough number. You, me, and Lincoln – who else?”

He eyed her stomach like he could see her wound through the fabric and inevitable bandages. “Should you really be going that far so soon?”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, waving her hand to dismiss his concern. “Octavia will probably want to come too, especially if you tell her she can’t, but we should leave Miller and Raven behind in charge – I’m not sure I trust anyone else to keep this lot in line.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes in resignation, knowing she was right about his sister, but snickered at the reactions the latter two were going to have to Clarke’s suggestion. “Harper and Jasper – they’re both decent shots. Dax and Stirling too.”

“Okay, so that’s eight of us, we’re all set then.” Clarke affirmed. “I’ll get Lincoln and O – you inform the rest. Meet back up in twenty?”

“O?” Bellamy looked at her in curiosity over the casual way she said Octavia’s nickname. It spoke of a fondness he hadn’t known existed. Hell, he didn’t even know they were friends.

“The power of girl-time, Bellamy.” Clarke grinned. “Never let it be underestimated.”

“Right.” He muttered, feeling a little bit lost.

“Don’t forget rations and a tent – we might not make it back tonight.”

Bellamy shook his head as he watched Clarke flounce off. Women were too confusing for him sometimes – it was easier just to nod and pretend he knew what they were talking about.

 

Clarke

Clarke slowly hitched her backpack onto her shoulders, taking great care with her side so she didn’t aggravate the wound, and walked into the dropship in search of Raven. Her newest friend hadn’t been delighted to be left behind on this adventure, and even less so when told she had joint authority with Miller in their absence. She wasn’t in sight, and Clarke wasn’t too surprised considering Raven seemed to be avoiding Miller and Miller was loitering close by, but Monty was there, tinkering with the radio again – his ear was pressed firmly against the speaker but all Clarke could hear was repetitive white noise.

“Hey Monty.” Clarke called. He shook his head slightly and smiled at her in greeting.

“I know you’re probably tired of being asked, but any luck with the radio?”

Clarke watched his smile disappear and he leaned forward to whisper hastily. “I think something’s interfering with our signal.”

“Like, someone’s blocking incoming transmissions on the Ark?” she questioned, her brows furrowed.

“No,” Monty looked spooked. “Like someone is blocking it on our end.”

“But, who could be doing that?” Clarke felt a shiver run down her spine.

“I don’t know.” Monty shook his head again. “But it’s not good.”

Clarke left Monty to his experiments feeling like the light-hearted happiness with which she’d started her day was slowly being leached away. She joined the others waiting for her at the gate and was immediately swept into Lincoln’s protective side.

“I do not like this.” He grumbled in her ear.

“This is too important,” she placed her arm around his waist in reassurance, “I need to be there to make sure it’s the right place for our people.”

“I know that.” Lincoln squeezed her to him. “But I still don’t like this.”

“Let’s get this show on the road!” Octavia exclaimed, one fist pumping the air.

Clarke laughed at her perpetual enthusiasm for life – but then, that’s probably because Octavia had never had a chance to live before. Coming to the ground might have been life changing for the rest of them simply because it was Earth and not the Ark, but for Octavia, it was life changing because she didn’t have to hide under floorboards, remain enclosed in one room all the time, and only converse with two family members.

“Tone it down, Octavia.” Bellamy grumbled. “This isn’t an adventure.”

“Everything on earth is an adventure.” She declared.

The eight of them set off without fanfare - Octavia gambling ahead and Bellamy rushing to stay close to her, curses spilling from his lips. She and Lincoln followed, sharing an amused look, whilst Harper seemed to be doing her best to flirt with Jasper behind them, with Dax and Stirling silently bringing up the rear. When some of Octavia’s zest for life waned in the monotony of hours walking through the forest, alert for danger so not truly able to enjoy it, they caught up with the pair of them and walked as one.

Octavia prattled away to the three of them, talking about the bioluminescent butterflies she thought they could capture and use as night lights, the same way people used to capture fireflies. Clarke tried to explain that aside from the fact she thought it was only kids who used to catch fireflies as a hobby, it would also be a pretty cruel thing to do, but Octavia was convinced it would work. Clarke amusingly took note of the way Lincoln and Bellamy periodically glanced at each other, as though sharing mutual commiseration on their misfortune of being stuck with girls for a long period of time. 

When Lincoln took her arm to help her climb over a fallen tree, she gave him a warm smile, but he seemed a little distracted by the weapon slung over her shoulder as it bumped against his side.

She reached out to touch his elbow. “I sense you’re really not happy about the guns – will you tell me why?”

Lincoln’s eyes jolted to meet hers and he looked like he was contemplating something – searching for the right words. Bellamy must have overheard and looked back at them. “He says the Mountain Men will rain down destruction on his people if they pick up a weapon.”

“He can speak for himself.” Lincoln growled.

Bellamy rolled his eyes but turned his back and kept walking to give them some measure of privacy.

“It’s true.” Lincoln explained, his eyes searching the forest ahead of them. “We are told the story as children, meant to warn us away from using any weapons such as those if we were to find them. I always believed it, as do the rest of my people, but…”

“But you have seen us use them, and nothing bad has happened.” Clarke finished.

Lincoln nodded, but his tone was serious. “Nothing…yet.”

Clarke wondered how much this was worrying him, and how much of a threat these unknown people really were. “These Mountain Men, what can you tell me about them?”

Bellamy and Octavia looked back at her and Lincoln, and she got the impression they were all hanging on his words.

“They come down from their impenetrable mountain to steal our people, never to be seen again – they bring on the fog to send us fleeing.” Lincoln spat the words through gritted teeth. “They are without honour and a deadly enemy.”

Clarke gasped, drawing some dangerous conclusions. “Mount Weather?”

Lincoln nodded, his eyes fierce. Clarke reached out her hand and linked her fingers with his. She didn’t know what to say, her mind spinning in a dozen directions at once. It felt even more imperative that they remove themselves from the immediate area if the grounders weren’t the only danger they had to contend with. If the acid fog was a weapon deployed by these Mountain Men, then they were much more technologically advanced than the other inhabitants of earth. Which brought up even more questions about what they were capable of…what other dangers they would have to face.

Clarke shuddered. “Monty thinks someone is interfering with our radio transmission to the Ark. Do you think these mountain men could do that?”

“It is highly likely.” Lincoln looked apologetic. “Your presence will not have gone unnoticed.”

“No way!” Octavia screeched excitedly, breaking the heavy silence.

Clarke looked up in confusion when Octavia darted forward. They were at the end of their section of the forest, and before them lay a vast grass plain with a circular grove of trees at it’s centre. The trees were not overly large, and seemed to be growing in neat rows, suggesting they’d been planted that way for a purpose. But Octavia wasn’t staring at the trees, her focus was on something at her feet. She knelt over to grasp it and brought it up for their collective inspection.

“Of course.” Clarke laughed, sharing the other girl’s excitement. “Apples!!”

“Awesome!” Jasper exclaimed, running forward when the second half of their group caught up. “You know what this means?!”

“Eh...food?” Bellamy snarked.

“No.” Jasper’s grin looked like it might split his face. “Cider!”

He snatched the apple from Octavia’s palm and ran for the tree grove, laughing when she started chasing after him yelling, “Finders keepers!”

Clarke grinned at Lincoln and Bellamy. “Looks like it’s apples for lunch...and dinner…and breakfast.”

They all eagerly followed the frolicking pair and reached for pieces of fruit of their own. Clarke pulled one straight from the first snarled tree bough she reached, examining the green globular fruit with interest. She took a cautious bite, enjoying the crunchy sound it made, and closed her eyes with a groan – it wasn’t the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted. But it was so crisp and fresh and tart on her tongue that she could definitely say it was the sweetest experience.

When she opened her eyes Lincoln was standing close, watching her with those dark eyes of his, his apple forgotten in his hand as it hung limply by his side.

“Do that again.” He growled quietly.

Clarke blushed and looked around, seeing everyone else preoccupied with feasting on their find. She took the step needed to close the distance between them and brought the apple up to her mouth for another bite. The minute she swallowed the fruit it’s taste was merged with his. He kissed her like it was the only sustenance he needed, like she was the apple in this scenario and every fricking time, and it never failed to ignite her body. His arms cradled her tenderly, an antithesis to the ferocity of his claiming mouth, and Clarke clung to his shoulders. 

Because of their intensity it took a moment for her to pick up on the hush that had descended over their group. She broke away from Lincoln with a rueful smile, thinking they were being watched, but the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end at the horrific, animal snarl breaking the quiet. Lincoln stiffened against her, and Clarke had never felt so frightened in her life when the growls grew in number, and a pack of wild dogs crept stealthily across the clearing towards them – their hackles raised and a vicious, hungry gleam in their eyes.


	9. The Growling Never Stops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the characters, events and world of The 100 – that honour goes to Kass Morgan and the writers for the (amazing) TV show. This story, though, is all mine baby!

Lincoln

Lincoln shuffled Clarke behind him and instinctively started backing towards the others and further into the orchard. His steps slow and measured, and his heart thundering in his ears. They were all on high alert, Clarke rigid against his back, her fingers gripping tightly to the sides of his t-shirt. Lincoln raged at the idea of her being in so much danger and silently berated himself for not noticing sooner. He’d allowed himself to become distracted in an unfamiliar situation and he was paying for it. Warriors shouldn’t get distracted, but he was finding the Sky people had a way of making him lower his guard. It was both freeing and inherently dangerous.

One of the canines, a large black and brown mutt with a triangular face, pushed ahead of the others – his approach was dominant and eerily communicative. He was clearly the alpha, and Lincoln knew when he made his move the others would follow in short order. Spittle dripped from seven sets of prominent fangs and he knew they were probably half starved. The world might be healing itself, but food wasn’t as rich a food source as before the war. It was a miracle that many of them were surviving undetected out on the forests edge in the first place.

“What do we do?” Octavia’s voice was a staged whisper. 

Lincoln quickly glanced behind him to assess the situation and saw she was in a similar position to Clarke, hidden protectively behind her older brother. The jittery boy with the goggles was also doing an admirable job of concealing the other female.

“Don’t move another inch, Stirling!” Bellamy ordered one of the two boys who had been edging away from the six of them. He’d made a distinct move to run, the urge to flee written all over his face. His companion, a tall shifty looking boy, looked as though he too was contemplating abandoning them to a nasty fate.

“Slow and easy. Everyone must back away. No sudden movements.” Lincoln darted his eyes from the incoming trail of canines to the grizzly leader stealthily backing them into the copse of trees.

They were a large but undernourished pack. If there were any smaller ones it was entirely possible they’d already been eaten by their family. There were plenty of cannibalistic humans - cannibalistic dogs didn’t seem like such a stretch of the imagination. And Lincoln knew that being undernourished didn’t mean weakness. Sometimes desperation gave you strength. 

“What about the trees?” Clarke suggested, her breath tickling his ear as she reached on her tip toes to talk to him. Lincoln squeezed her hip to encourage her further. “They won’t be able to climb after us, and it will buy us some time.”

“They’ll surround us.” Bellamy snapped. He sounded just as frustrated as Lincoln felt at their situation. “We’ll just be delaying their meal time and making them angrier.”

“Not if we use them to get away.” Clarke argued. “Not just to hide, but to jump from one to the other until we get to somewhere safer. Harper, you take Jasper, and Octavia can direct Bellamy.” 

Without waiting for the consensus, Clarke fisted the material of his t-shirt and started directing his backwards steps towards an unseen tree. He went easily, agreeing with her idea as the only feasible option.

“I’m not leaping from tree to tree like the savages.” The shifty boy groused. “And over a bunch of hungry, feral dogs waiting to tear off our limbs – fuck that.” 

Lincoln growled lowly in his direction.

“Then you’ll have to take your chances on the ground, Dax.” Bellamy muttered distractedly. 

Affording himself another glimpse of their positioning, Lincoln saw that Octavia and Harper had followed Clarke’s directions and they were all poised at the base of sturdy looking trees, ready to scramble up them at a moment’s notice. The two reluctant boys were staring at them all incredulously and continued backing into the orchard, as if they thought there was some unseen boundary the dogs wouldn’t dare to cross. If that was what they were hoping, they would be sorely disappointed.

Lincoln watched Octavia sneer at Dax and fought down his inappropriate laughter. “Serve as a distraction for the rest of us why don’t you. There’s a good boy.” 

“Distraction.” Dax spat. “I don’t need a distraction - I have a gun!”

“Don’t be an idiot!” Jasper warned. But it was too late – at some unseen signal, Dax and Stirling took off in a sprint, spraying bullets intermittently and indiscriminately behind them. One of the pack yelped in pain and the rest charged as one furious herd of slathering jaws.

Lincoln pushed Clarke the rest of the way up the tree, glad she hadn’t waited for his assistance to start her ascent, and then leapt smoothly after her, swinging himself onto the closest branch one handed. Climbing trees was natural for him, despite Dax’s derogatory comments, but he worried the others wouldn’t manage quite as well.

He huddled around Clarke, keeping her safely in the net of his arms, and watched Bellamy kick off one of the dogs that had managed to bite at his leg but only managed to catch the lip of his boot. The dog squealed when the thrust sent it reeling into a tree and Bellamy managed to get himself to safety. Jasper and Harper were safely clinging to their own branch with looks of pure astonishment that they’d made it so far unscathed.

The unholy sound of bullets thudding into trunks and the flesh of the dogs made a sordid soundtrack to their escape. As the six of them took stock of their mutual safety with an element of respite, a terrified masculine scream reverberated from further into the trees.

“Who do you think bit it?” Octavia asked grimly. Jasper looked like he might throw up and Bellamy frowned.

The dogs could be heard fighting over their hard won meal, and the pained cries of one of the boys soon died away. Lincoln was used to the grim reality of this new world, but he saw the loud and vicious death had shaken his companions from their white-washed faces and large pupils.

“Now what?” Harper asked shakily.

“Now, we leap through the trees like savages.” Clarke responded with a wink in his direction.

He let his fingers slide into her hair and pulled her in for a kiss fraught with relief. She was warm and comforting to him now, and his heart got the message and slowed down. She was safe, and he had every intention of keeping her that way. When he pulled away he was pleased to see that Clarke seemed calmer too.

“Alright, Tarzan.” Bellamy piped up from his leafy perch several feet away. “How do we get out of this mess?”

Lincoln’s brow furrowed. “Tarzan?”

Bellamy laughed. “I’ll tell you all about him later. You’d be surprised how much the two of you have in common.”

Clarke snorted. “If you start referring to me as Jane we’re going to have problems.”

“Never fear, Princess. Your nickname is solid.” Octavia chuckled.

Clarke rolled her eyes and squeezed his arm to get them moving. Lincoln shifted, scrambling effortlessly up the branches until he was at the highest tier of the trunk, then walked swiftly across the thickest branch of their tree to get a better lay of the land – of the treescape, as the case was. Spotting the easiest route for all of them, and the place where all their paths would intersect, he returned gently, trying not to make the tree sway under Clarke’s footing, to find them all raptly observing him.

He met each of their gazes. “Follow my direction – watch how I balance. Light steps, strong grip with your hands and feet. Do not look at the ground, look ahead at the branch you stand on and the one you will jump to.”

They all nodded an affirmative and looked at the branches around them as though assessing one of life’s great puzzles. Lincoln manoeuvred Clarke behind him and ducked down to point out the path he intended they take.

“Put your hands and feet where I do.” He met her eyes fiercely. “If the dogs return, do not be afraid. I will not let them hurt you. If you think you may fall, grab onto me.”

“We’ll stick low, in case one of us falls.” Clarke assured the others.

Lincoln swept his hand across her cheek, unable to ignore the compulsion to touch her, then set his mind on the task of getting them all out of there alive. More shots fired out ahead of them as he crept along the bow of the branch, checked behind him to make sure Clarke had a good handhold, before he leapt into the neighbouring tree. He quickly shuffled to make room.

He looked back to see Clarke hadn’t hesitated in following him, and he caught out at her when she leapt right into his arms.

“See, easy.” Lincoln murmured to her, his voice brimming with pride. She gave him a huge grin and then separated to watch the others echoing their movements. They were a little awkward, he observed, but their determination was enough.

“I feel like this is a great opportunity to shout, “I’m the king of the world.” Jasper declared from his perch. “Only I’m afraid of incurring the wrath of any watching people with spears.”

Lincoln snorted his amusement. He met Jasper’s eyes and nodded in reassurance. The boy had more cause than the others to have reservations about spending time with the perceived enemy but he was taking it in his stride. 

Something made Lincoln stop and search behind them - an awareness that prickled at the back of his spine and alerted him to…something. Something not being right. He extended his senses – listened for noise outside of the ones they were making as a group. Searched for something out of the ordinary – something that shouldn’t be there – but it was just the trees and the clearing. Lincoln shook it off and turned away, more determined than ever to get away from the area.

 

Clarke

Following Lincoln as he darted effortlessly between the trees, it became obvious the grounders were so much more attuned to nature than the 100. It wasn’t surprising, but it made Clarke aware that they could definitely use some lessons from Lincoln in more than just hand to hand combat.

“We’re approaching the edge of the orchard.” Lincoln called from the tree ahead of her – his dark eyes scanning her face.

He’d made a point of checking on her progress every few seconds. Under some circumstances it would have made her feel stifled, irritable even, but she knew he was just worried about her. After a few lunges her wound had begun to twinge – now it throbbed with every movement she took, and as much as she’d tried to cover it, she knew he was aware of the problem. Clarke breathed a silent sigh of relief that the end was nigh.

“I’m hungry.” Jasper grumbled from behind her. They’d all gathered together in the same strip of trees after following Lincoln’s set path and it was comforting to know they were all together again.

Clarke laughed when Octavia threw an apple at his head. “Eat an apple, buddy.”

Jasper grumbled under his breath and quickly followed after Clarke when she leapt to the next tree. She saw Lincoln was correct the minute she stood where he had. The other side of the clearing was visible, and close, as was a bloody, mangled heap of clothing she suspected was one of the boy’s bodies. She counted five, maybe six dogs scattered nearby in silent, crumpled heaps.

“I’m going to go down and make sure it’s safe.” Lincoln spoke close to her ear and she lifted her eyes away from the gruesome display to realise he was watching her closely with concern clear in his eyes.

“Be careful.” She told him, trying not to let her worry become visible.

“Always.” He grinned at her and leapt lithely to the ground.

"Where’s Tarzan going?” Bellamy asked.

“To make sure we’re off the menu.” She replied with a smirk.

Lincoln swiftly appeared back at the base of the tree and stretched his arms out towards her. “Jump. I will catch you.”

Clarke didn’t hesitate, and although he braced for the impact of her body, she couldn’t help the groan that escaped her mouth when he inadvertently grasped her wound to keep her in his arms. He quickly let go, propping her on her feet and looking at her apologetically. She patted his arms gently in reassurance.

“Don’t suppose you want to catch me too?” Jasper called from the tree.

Lincoln and Clarke laughed, and Clarke took the opportunity to lean some of her weight on Lincoln. He was so strong, and right now pain and exhaustion was creeping up on her.

“Stop being a punk and jump.” Bellamy called as he made his own unpractised leap to the ground, landing with bent knees and rolling to the floor.

He reached up to help Octavia, who had made her own inexpert leap, and when she was safely beside him he moved on to Harper. Jasper still stood eyeing the ground like it was a pit of vipers.

"Is that a mountain lion?” Octavia screamed at him, pointing to the branch above him.

“What? Where?” Jasper’s voice was as high pitched as a two-year-old girl’s. His rapid and unsteady movements as he scanned the tree in which he stood sent him tumbling down with a strangled yelp.

Clarke bent forward to help him pick himself off the floor and tried not to laugh.

“You play dirty.” He frowned at Octavia, rubbing his elbow and bending down to retrieve his goggles after they’d been slung loose.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

“Octavia!” Bellamy grouched.

“Relax, big brother.” Octavia winked at Clarke. 

Harper looked a little sickly when she turned away from the remnants of the bloody fight they’d only heard and not seen and looked at Clarke. “I only see six dogs – there were seven, right? I’m not crazy thinking there’s one of these shits missing?”

Lincoln nodded in agreement. “You are not crazy. The alpha is missing.”

“Fantastic.” Bellamy griped. “What do we do now? We can’t wait around for it to attack again. That fucker almost took my foot off.”

“No, you’re right.” Clarke agreed. “We can’t wait around - we’ve got to keep going. We’ll just have to have someone always on watch throughout the night.”

“Right. Let’s get moving.” Bellamy concurred.

As one they edged around the bloody scene with matching looks of caution, disgust and regret.

“Can anyone tell who it is?” Octavia asked, ironically staring at the sky to avoid the gory, contorted corpse of one of their camp mates.

Clarke, used to blood if not such severe wounds, examined what was left of the body with a critical eye. “It’s sterling.” She decided, seeing the colour of the hair through the blood.

“Are you sure?” Lincoln asked her.

“Definitely.”

“Then the human with the worst attitude is still out there too.” He replied.

Bellamy laughed dryly and led them across the clearing. His strides were large and Clarke hurried to keep up – they all did, aside from Lincoln who seemed more eager than any of them to get out of there.

When they reached the edge of the trees Clarke watched Lincoln pause and tilt his head, as though he was listening to something the rest of them were unaware of. When he frowned and kept going, she reached out a hand to tag his and carried on walking, their fingers strongly entwined.

It felt like hours later to Clarke when they heard the rumble of fast moving water ahead of them, though she knew it couldn’t have been that long in reality. Moments later the large trees cleared to reveal a wide, tumultuous river that she instantly knew was going to be a challenge to cross.

“Not good.” Octavia moaned.

“We should camp here tonight.” Lincoln told them. “We can cross the river tomorrow.”

“Isn’t it better to get it over with now?” Bellamy argued.

“No. Clarke is exhausted. You’re all tired – it would be easy to get swept away in that tide.”

Bellamy looked like he still disagreed, but Jasper piped up his agreement. “I’m all for waiting until the morrow!”

“Fine.” Bellamy agreed. “I’ll take first watch.”

Lincoln nodded. “I’ll take second.”

“Me next.” Octavia offered, her tone upbeat.

Jasper startled when Octavia nudged him. “I’ll take fourth!”

Clarke laughed and grinned at Harper. “Looks like you and me get a good nights sleep.”

 

Lincoln

They’d started a fire for warmth as darkness settled its mark on the forest, turning the trees into blocks of shadow and bringing with it a distinct chill. Winter would be upon them soon, and the idea of a sturdy structure which he could share with Clarke was a most welcome thought.

Lincoln bit down on an apple from their stash and watched Clarke sleep with a deep sense of something distinctly proprietary and protective. As though sensing his gaze, she mumbled in her sleep and opened her eyes with a start.

“Nightmare?” he asked gently, reaching out to feather his fingers across her forehead.

She closed her eyes and smiled at him. “Yeah.”

His gut squeezed at her admission. He wanted to take away all of her pain, the real and the imagined. He wanted to cocoon her somewhere safe – just the two of them. No disturbances. No danger. No responsibility except to each other. The more he thought about it the more perfect it sounded.

“Go back to sleep.” He commanded her.

She grinned indulgently at him then and started to rise. “I will, as soon as I’ve used the excellent forest facilities.”

“I’ll go with you.” He started to stand.

Clarke pushed his shoulders down, using them as a crutch to get up and keep him from following. “No need – I’ll just be behind the trees. Back before you know it.”

He watched her go – ignoring the ache it caused in his chest. He didn’t like the idea of her walking away from him. It felt more than a little irrational, but he couldn’t seem to help it.

The sound of branches breaking cracked heavily in the night, and a small rumble beneath his feet felt like large quantities of earth had just shifted. Lincoln leapt up and ran towards the direction Clarke had disappeared.

“Clarke!” he yelled frantically – searching the pitch darkness for a sign of where she’d gone. A few trees in he stopped and examined the gaping hole in the forest floor where tree roots and earth used to be. He edged around it, only to see another cave in further on.

“Clarke.” He called – kneeling down beside the first hole. “Tell me where you are, now!”

The others, newly awoken, had followed him and added their own sleepy, worried shouts until his ears rung.

“Quiet.” He admonished – waiting for a sign of where she might be.

"Shit." Bellamy exclaimed in a whisper.

Suddenly Lincoln heard growls rising through the opening, from somewhere deep beneath them, and he leapt down the dark chasm without a second thought to how deep it might be or whether he’d be injured. Clarke needed him. That was everything he needed to know.


	10. It Just Keeps on Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the characters, events and world of The 100 – that honour goes to Kass Morgan and the writers for the (amazing) TV show. This story, though, is all mine baby!

Clarke

One minute Clarke was getting ready to use the excellent bathroom facilities offered up by the forest – in other words, praying the apocalypse destroyed all remnants of poison ivy, or at least failed to mutate it into something deadly - the next she felt the floor shift out from under her and she was falling. The mud slide seemed to go deep into the earth, though it probably wasn’t as far as her mind wanted her to think, and although she was mostly cushioned by the dirt, her flailing arms banged painfully against something unforgiving.

Clarke clutched her side protectively and tried not to panic at her hurtling speed. Moments later when she stopped moving, everything was pitch black – darker even than the forest canopy, like someone had laid a blanket over the moon and stars and tugged them away.

She opened her mouth to call for help and immediately had a coughing fit. The air was so disturbed it was like breathing through silt. It smelt of neglect, like damp and long stagnant air, and a swift breeze made her shiver and huddle in on herself. Instead of feeling like she was in a hole, Clarke felt uncomfortably like she was on the edge of a precipice – lots and lots of deep, empty space all around her. Her left elbow twinged in time with her ribs when she tried to stand up, and she fell back against the hard floor with a grunt.

“Clarke!” Lincoln’s panicked voice sounded too distant and she tried not to let that bother her. But it did. When had she started needing him so much?

More shouts sounded from above as she inhaled deeply against her sleeve and assessed her predicament the same way she’d been taught to assess injuries. Is it fatal? No. What’s the primary concern? Getting back to the surface. What could she do to make it happen? Not sit on her butt panicking would be a start.

Clarke held her sore elbow to her side and gently eased herself onto her knees, willing her eyes to adjust. She stumbled to her feet and tentatively felt out with her foot a few paces ahead – her arms instinctively darting straight out in front of her, feeling for a wall or some measure of support. She’d stumbled maybe two steps when a rumbling, scratchy growl rose up from somewhere to her left and she froze solid.

Goosebumps erupted across her bare arms and she shuddered. The growling increased, getting imminently closer. She was being stalked. She’d just taken in a sharp breath to scream when a soft, solid thump sounded somewhere farther to her left. Clear sounds of a scuffle broke out next to her – the fierce grunts of a man intermingled with the growls and snarls of what she knew was surely the missing alpha. It must have laid in wait and attacked her as the weakest link. 

She felt the disturbances in the air around her yet frustratingly saw nothing but shadows upon shadows. Clarke’s heart was solidly in her throat – a throbbing that temporarily robbed her of speech. The silence, as sudden as it was, felt deafening. 

“Lincoln?” she whispered shakily.

Then he was there, not quite touching her, but close enough to feel his breath against her forehead and the sheltering warmth of his skin mere milometers from her own. Clarke sagged into his waiting arms and felt a little like crying with relief. 

“I was so damn worried.” She exhaled on a slight laugh.

“You were worried.” He sounded incredulous. She felt him draw back slightly as though searching for her face, and then his hands did just that – cupping her cheeks with infinite care. “If ever I thought I knew the meaning of fear before this day I was mistaken.”

Clarke blushed warmly against his palms. “I’ll try not to scare you so much next time, big guy.”

“That would be wise.” He agreed solemnly.

One hand wandered down her side in a fleeting caress to cup her injured ribs and she knew he needed to know she was uninjured. Needed it the same way she needed him. She searched for his eyes, obsidian gems that stood out against the sharp angles of his face, and when she knew she had his undivided attention she pressed her lips firmly against his. She wanted to kiss away all his worries – the compulsion to kiss every inch of his exposed skin more powerful than anything she’d felt before.

“As cute as this is…” Octavia called out. “Would either of you like a hand getting out of that godforsaken pit?”

Clarke grinned against Lincoln’s mouth and looked up, expecting to see more darkness, but a break in the trees caused moonlight to flood through. The remnants of a crumbling rock wall were illuminated ten feet away, pockmarked and covered in muck from the sudden shift in soil. It was steep, and they would definitely need help getting out, but it was manageable. Octavia knelt at the lip, an amused smirk arranged across her face. She could just distinguish the outline of Bellamy, standing behind her like a sentinel with his arms crossed and his feet braced apart.

“Yes, please.” She sighed gratefully.

“I’ll get some rope.” Bellamy muttered and walked out of sight. Harper appeared next to Octavia and winked down at Clarke.

Lincoln drew her in for a brief kiss then relinquished her to examine their escape route. Clarke left him to it and used what she could of the dim lighting to finally investigate their surroundings. There was something slightly ancient about the space, though all she could see was glimpses of rock walls and curious hollows, beyond that slopes of thick mud were dotted with snarled roots. The roots would probably come in handy as foot holds for getting out of there at least.

She glanced past the crumpled body of the alpha with a sense of pity. Pity that such a creature was forced to become man’s enemy, rather than man’s best friend as the old stories told. A small gleam in the thickest part of the darkness, just beyond the dead canine, accidently caught her eye and Clarke gasped. Lincoln turned to her immediately but she stalled him with her hands before he could talk.

Two eyes reflected moonlight back at her from a place low to the floor – a small inlet half submerged by the cascade of mud. Clarke took slow, steady steps in that direction, making a conscious effort not to stiffen when a soft growl started rumbling from the cornered animal.

“No, Clarke.” Lincoln warned.

“Hush.” She hissed. She flapped her hands at him to get him to stay away. Always so protective, he wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention to her and she knew he was milliseconds from her side.

As she got closer she crouched down to the floor, making her body appear smaller and unthreatening, then stretched one hand gently out in front of her in a submissive gesture.

“Hello there, little one.” She softly cooed.

The growling gradually petered out and a small wet nose sniffed cautiously at her offered hand. “I won’t hurt you. Why don’t you come out where I can see you?”

It took a little coaxing, and more than a few grumbles from Lincoln who watched her with narrowed eyes, but the minute one sooty paw padded out of the hiding place, Clarke fell in love. Suddenly her arms were full of squirming puppy – a tiny fur covered body with ears too big for it’s head and a belly that desperately needed filling.

“That’s right,” Clarke murmured against the ticklish sensation of the puppy licking her neck. “You’re safe now.”

“He likes you.”

Clarke jumped slightly, startling the puppy who immediately burrowed against her stomach. She hadn’t heard Lincoln approach, which wasn’t exactly unusual, but it was the acceptance in his voice that surprised her. She lifted her eyes to meet his and grinned contritely. He knelt at her side, one hand slipping around her waist, the other stroking the warm bundle in her lap with such care she felt her heart pulse like a stone skipping across a lake.

“He has good taste.” Lincoln spoke softly, his answering smile wry.

He helped her to her feet as a rope bounced down against the wall behind him. Clarke quickly bundled the puppy against her front while Lincoln zipped up her jacket. Once she was sure her bundle was secure she approached the wall with Lincoln – he tugged at the rope firmly before passing it over to her. He looped it securely around her waist before patting her bottom in encouragement.

“You first.” He stated, standing behind her with his arms extended as though to catch her if she fell. Which he undoubtedly would, she knew.

“Bellamy and Jasper have the other end secure.” Octavia called out. “You’re good to go.”

“Alright.” Clarke called. “Heave-ho, boys!”

Clarke grasped the rope with firm hands and found her first foot holds – the boys above strongly yanked her most of the way, so it felt like she was running up the wall rather than climbing. She probably wouldn’t admit it to anyone, especially because of how scared she’d been moments before, but it was kind of exhilerating.

Octavia and Harper gripped her arms and helped her over the edge. Clarke sent the rope sailing back down to Lincoln. He seemed to make the climb much more gracefully than her, and as soon as he was free of the rope’s constrictions he put his arms supportively around her.

They all gathered at the edge of her temporary prison. From up here the crevice looked like something from Greek mythology – a pit of hell and damnation in Tartarus perhaps. But then, she was tired, and it was really dark. It had been a long night.

“We can check it out properly in the morning.” Octavia offered.

Clarke nodded and they headed back to their little encampment. Blessedly the fire hadn’t died out and Clarke bent in front of it to warm her hands. 

“What’s with the stomach pouch, Clarke?” Harper asked, eyeing her zipped jacket.

“You trying to give credence to those baby rumours, princess?” Bellamy joked.

“Hardy har har.” Clarke muttered. She sat back against Lincoln and reached for her zipper.

Octavia and Harper squealed in delight and the puppy burrowed against her once more in fright. Lincoln’s arms reached round to pet the dog and it nuzzled gratefully into his palm.

“Is that...Is that a puppy?!” Bellamy demanded. He stood across from her and crossed his arms defiantly.

Clarke furrowed her brows. “So what if it is?”

“Clarke, we can’t keep it.”

Octavia threw her brother a disgusted look. Even Jasper looked upset at the thought of leaving the little guy behind.

“You’re right.” She nodded, trying not to laugh at his instant look of relief. “I’ll just leave this small helpless bundle here for predators, shall I?” She looked up at him through her lashes. “This helpless bundle whose whole family is dead because of us. This helpless little bundle who won’t last a day, all alone in the world, no way to feed itself…”

“Alright. Jesus.” He spat. “Keep the damn dog, but it’s your responsibility.”

“Thank you, oh gracious leader.” Clarke mock bowed.

“Everyone shut up now and get some sleep.” Bellamy decreed.

“You’re such an ass sometimes, Bell.” Octavia griped, though she drew her blanket over her head and settled down. Everyone soon followed, drained from the excitement of the day.

Lincoln pulled Clarke gently back onto their shared blanket and pulled another one up to their waists. They lay facing each other with the puppy nestled between them. He got up onto his little legs once Clarke put him down and walked in a circle twice, sleepily chasing his tail, before curling into a ball of dark fluff.

Clarke grinned at Lincoln and reached across the small gap to kiss his nose. “Thank you for understanding.” She said.

“I was just trying to give you what you wanted.” His voice brimmed with sincerity.

Clarke’s grin widened. “I feel that’s how it should always be.”

Lincoln chuckled silently and brought one arm up to touch the tip of her nose. It was then she noticed the bloody crescent on his wrist and sucked in a breath of shock.

“You’ve been bitten!” she exclaimed in a whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“It’s nothing.” He pulled his sleeve down to cover it. “You can tend to it in the morrow if it’s not already healing.”

Clarke made a little moue of distress. “If this were a zombie infested apocalyptic world, I’d have to kill you now.”

“You can kill me tomorrow.” Lincoln stated laughingly. “But for now, just go to sleep.”

“Yes, sir.” She sassed.

“I feel that’s how you should always address me.”

Clarke stifled her giggles into the crook of her arm and snuggled closer to Lincoln and the puppy. They’d have to think of a name for the little dude in the morning – something badass and cute.

Just before she drifted off she felt Lincoln sweep her hair behind her ear in a touch so tender she ached. He leaned forward and whispered. “My people prize strength above all else. Strength and loyalty. Emotions aren’t supposed to get in the way of that. Heda says love is weakness. But you, Clarke, you’re so full of emotion, of love, and just so strong. You never stop caring. I didn’t know it could be like that.”

 

Raven

The cacophony of the perimeter alarm tripping shoved Raven forcefully out of her day dreams. She and Monty had spent hours after the scouting group left trying to figure out what was interfering with the radio signal, with absolutely no success. But she agreed with him – someone was interfering with their outgoing signal, and it was likely on this end. Which had so many implications, nearly all of them bad news, that her head was figuratively spinning. If they found radio equipment in Front Royal, they might be able to rig something together – and there was a chance they might be out of range of whatever was blocking their comms now – but Raven wouldn’t hold her breath.

The sound of gun shots followed the trip wire and Raven sighed before darting out of the communications tent. She headed for the gates and pushed her way through the crowd of curious teens – her methods of sticking her elbow into every side she passed was met with scowls.

“What’s happening?” she demanded.

Miller appeared instantly at her side and pulled the gate open. “Stay here.”

She bit her tongue at his commanding tone but didn’t have to wait long. He reappeared seconds later with a worried look pasted across his face.

“Well?” she asked. “What is it?”

He moved out of the way and Raven saw what his body had been concealing. Two of the guards left on perimeter duty, Connor and Derek, half carried, half dragged the seemingly lifeless body of a dark haired boy between them. He was so bloody and beaten that Raven had a hard time making out his features.

“Who is it?” she stepped back to let them enter. “I don’t recognise him.”

“That’s because he was banished before you got down here. Raven, meet Murphy.” Milled frowned suspiciously.

Monty burst through the crowd while she was remembering everything she’d been told about the troubling and rebellious guy. He was part of the reason Clarke and Finn had gotten closer – something about a young girl who took her own life.

“Take him to the drop ship.” Monty told the boys.

Miller grabbed Connor’s arm. “Hold up. He was banished for a reason, Monty.”

Monty, who Raven had taken to be a passive personality, met Miller’s glare with one of his own. “Banished or not, he’s obviously in no condition to take care of himself and we can’t just chuck him back out there. Look at his hands – this wasn’t an accident, this was torture.”

Raven focused on Murphy’s hands and bit back a swallow when she saw the bloody pits where nails used to grow. Her own fingers itched in sympathetic response.

“Yeah, and how much did he tell the grounders about us, huh?” Miller replied angrily.

“Probably everything.” Monty met his steady stare. “And I don’t blame him. We don’t know what any of us would do when put in the same situation.”

Miller seemed to deflate before her eyes. “Okay – take him to the drop ship. You’ve been promoted, doc.”

Monty hurried after the struggling boys and Raven watched them go, feeling worry begin to burn a hole in her stomach.

She reached out to touch Miller’s arm. “When Bellamy and Clarke get back, they can make the decision of what to do with him. It’s not our job, alright?”

Miller turned to face her and something in his eyes caused goosebumps to creep along Raven’s exposed skin.

“I have a bad a feeling about this…a really bad feeling.”

 

Two hours later…

Raven was crying blood. If she hadn’t seen it happen to Connor and Derek first, she wouldn’t have believed it was possible to cry blood and stay calm at the same time.

It had started small, a handful of them looking pale, coughing, getting dizzy – then there was the blood. Gushing from mouths, noses and eyes. Derek had collapsed and died in front of her – quickly followed by Connor. Raven had never been the queasy sort, but something about crying blood made her wish she was, just so she could hide away and let someone else sort this mess out.

“Raven!” Miller entered the communications tent and immediately reached out for her.

“No.” She backed away with her arms raised. “One of us has to stay healthy. Monty says we should set up a quarantine and you’ll need to keep the rest of them calm.”

He looked agonised, but stepped back to allow her to leave unaided. He followed her to the drop ship and she arrived in time to see Murphy puking up a bucket of blood – lovely. 

She approached him hastily and knelt down to peer into his eyes. Her mind had been working overtime in the intervening hours and she just needed him to confirm her theory. “How did you escape, Murphy?”

He sniffed and lazily met her eyes. “They forgot to lock my cage, so I took off.”

She sighed and stood up – a dizzy spell making her head spin, literally this time. It was a classic manoeuvre when you thought about it – who better to bring them down than one of their own – exiled and re-welcomed back into the fold. If you could call what they’d done a welcome.

“It’s biological warfare.” She told Miller.

“Of course.” Monty exclaimed. “They purposefully let him go so he could infect us.”

“Shit.” Miller simplified her thoughts with one word. “So what do we do now?”

“Now we pray the others return before we’re all dead.” She was proud when her voice didn’t wobble.

Miller looked about him helplessly and Raven knelt down to give water to one of the campers sicker than her. She’d help out here while she still could – things were always easier when she could apply her mind to a useful task.

She glanced up at Miller and saw he was on the verge of saying something but seemed stumped. “If you say I told you so, I’ll crush your balls to dust.”

Miller grinned at her cockily. “Think about my balls a lot do you?”

“Urgh.” Raven blew out a frustrated breath and then started laughing. Once she started she couldn’t seem to stop. Miller joined her. It was the kind of laugh that was fraught with nerves and highly inappropriate, but Raven didn’t care.

They both stopped suddenly, however, when a young girl burst into the drop ship, panting hard. “There’s a grounder at the wall.” She gasped. “We told him Lincoln and Clarke weren’t here, but he insists he speaks to whoever’s in charge.”

“Double shit.” Miller stated.

Raven laughed dryly. “You’re it.”


	11. My Kind of Savage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the characters, events and world of The 100 – that honour goes to Kass Morgan and the writers for the (amazing) TV show. This story, though, is all mine baby!

Miller

Kids were dropping like flies all over camp – spewing crimson blood from pale mouths and turning bleary, pleading eyes in his direction. He herded them into the drop ship with an apologetic shrug and a guilty expression. Miller could feel the discord thrumming through the air like it was alive and electric. He’d never regretted being left in charge so much as he did right now. 

Bellamy and Clarke made those hard decisions seem…maybe not easy, but near enough in his mind. He, on the other hand, was close to losing his legendary cool. There was a not-so-quiet voice in the back of his mind that pointed out the loss of his calm might have more to do with the deteriorating state of a certain sassy mechanic than the state of the camp on the whole. But he was solidly ignoring that voice. Blanking it out. Overriding it. Completely.

Raven wandered out of the drop ship on shaky legs and his stomach dropped perceptively. 

“What are you doing?” He hurried over to her side. “Did you miss the part in English Lit where they explained the meaning of words…like contagious and quarantine? Work is not a synonym for rest.”

"It's not controlled." She said what he'd already been thinking. "I've got bodies piling up in there and Monty’s doing the best he can, but he’s not Clarke. I've lost track of who's dead, who's dying and who might still make it.” Raven wiped away a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth and sighed. “I just needed some air."

Miller watched her and gritted his teeth against the rush of concern. "Alright." He conceded. "I can understand wanting to share my little pocket of air. Besides, I’m beginning to think I’m one of the naturally immune." 

Raven rolled her eyes and slumped back against the side of the drop ship. “Naturally immune?” 

"Here." He dragged a salvaged drop ship seat over to her feet. "Take a load off while you enjoy it, why don't you. Otherwise I'll lose my reputation as a gentleman."

Raven sank into the seat gratefully. “If anyone’s got natural immunity, it’s me to your charms.”

He knelt down beside her and peered into her eyes. They were eerily bloodshot in her wan face. "At least you finally recognise that I’m charming.” 

They smiled at each other in playfulness. “You were saying?” Raven prompted.

“Nyko. He was the grounder at the gate - said he wanted to give us forewarning out of respect to Lincoln. Bit late for that in some respects, but appreciated none the less.” Miller shook his head ruefully. 

“It’s a tactic they employ before their army attacks, weeds out the weak, but supposedly some people are naturally immune. You know, the brawniest of us.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Raven, trying to bring a little light-heartedness to the situation, but she only rolled her eyes in response. It was becoming a bit of a game for him – just how many times could he invoke that cute frustrated response?

“So that’s what the grounder wanted.” Raven frowned in thought. “What are we going to do?”  
Miller got serious. “We have 24 hours at best before they’re breathing down our necks. We either lock ourselves in the drop ship and hope that’s enough of a deterrent for now, or we try to leave early.”

Just then a commotion broke out behind them and they turned as a unit to watch Dax limp heavily into camp. Healthy kids grouped in worried clusters moved out of his way hurriedly, afraid his bedraggled appearance meant he was one of the sick. Raven tried to stand but Miller pressed down on her shoulder to prevent her and beckoned the boy over. He took note of the bloody makeshift bandage on one calf, very inexpertly done, and the harried look in Dax's eyes.

"Why are you alone?"

"Where are the others?" He and Raven simultaneously demanded.

Dax looked blankly between the two of them, his eyes not showing a hint of emotion. "Gone."  
"Gone where?" Miller tempered his immediate irritation. He’d heard people described as cold fish before, but hearing about it and dealing with it in a time of crisis was something else altogether.

"No...I mean, they're gone. Dead - gone." Dax heaved a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "There were these wild dogs - they attacked us as a pack out in the open in this apple grove. We didn't stand a chance."

Raven gasped at his side and he moved his hand back to her shoulder for support. Whether he was supporting her or himself he couldn't say. His insides, previously flushed with warmth, now felt like frozen slush. They couldn't all be gone, it was impossible. No way. Oh God.

"Where are the bodies?" He growled.

"You think I could have carried seven bodies back with me? I'm not on steroids." Dax threw him a dirty look. "I swiped this off Sterling’s body when the dust settled and got a bite in the calf for my trouble."

Miller looked at the blood soaked rag that used to be a t-shirt. Chunks of something pink and red fell to the floor when Dax shook it out and he resisted the urge to throw up. There's no way the owner of the clothing was alive, and he could see evidence of Dax's wound for himself. Wild dogs! As if they didn't have enough to contend with.

“How did you survive?” Miller questioned.

“Got myself up a tree in time – got no woman to protect so my only concern was myself.” Dax shrugged.

"Get Monty to patch you up." He choked out, waving his hand in the direction of the drop ship.

Dax limped off and when he looked over at Raven his heart turned over in his chest. Silent tears ran down her cheeks and pooled in the hollows above her collar bones.

"I can't believe it.” Raven sniffed. “How can they all be gone, just like that? What are we supposed to do??" 

She sounded desperate. They were desperate. Neither of them was leader material. They were cogs who helped keep things moving but didn't give the machine the shove it needed to get started. Didn't give it the direction their leaders could.

Monty came running out of the drop ship moments after Dax entered and skidded to a stop at their side. Behind him Murphy followed at a leisurely pace. Miller absently noted that the boy looked much healthier than he had when they first found him, though it would probably be a while before the haunted look left his face. Torture would do that to a man.

"Tell me it's not true!" Monty pleaded in a quiet voice that shook with emotion.

"Oh, Monty." Raven whispered.

"I don't believe it." Monty gasped in denial. “Jasper can’t be gone, I’d know.”

Miller leant into Raven more as she reached out to grip the tormented boy’s hand.

Murphy rounded his shoulders and sank his hands into his pockets. "They're not dead."

"Since when do you even care?" The words nearly stuck in his throat. God, Miller hated how emotional the day was becoming. Hated it.

"I don't. Not really." Murphy shook his head. "But the princess is our best chance at survival and you know it. No way did she get taken down by a fricking dog, of all things."

"He's right. Sort of." Raven wiped her face, took in a shuddering breath and he let go of her shoulder. Her expression turned resolute. Determined. "Lincoln's too smart for that, and there’s no way he’d let anything happen to Clarke.”

"Who's Lincoln?" Murphy looked confused.

"Clarke's grounder." At Murphy's astonished look Miller held up a hand in protest to stop further questions. "It's a long story, don't ask.” He turned to Raven. “But you might be on to something – Dax said he survived because he didn’t have a ‘woman’ to look out for, but Bellamy wouldn't let anything happen to Octavia either. At the very least, the girls would be protected. They’d be alive."

"So what…” Raven queried. “Dax is lying to us? What for?”

Miller shook his head, feeling even more frustrated. “We can't spare anyone to go check on them, and we can’t let him know we think he lied until we know for sure he did. Not with things the way they are." 

“I’ll go.” Murphy volunteered. “I’m better now, and the others don’t need me here – not like they’d accept my help if I offered.”

Miller eyed the boy in trepidation. “Why should we trust that you won’t just run away? You’ve got a history of it, Murphy.”

Murphy shrugged and offered him a placid smirk. “That’s the nature of the beast – you’ve got to give it up and hope for the best.”

He went to protest but Raven struggled to her feet and his attention immediately switched to her. He grasped her elbow to help her stay standing when she swayed again. If anything, her skin was taking on a grey tinge, lightly sheened with sweat. She definitely needed to rest.

“Let him go.” She declared.

“Raven…”

“No.” Monty agreed. “It’s our only choice if we don’t want to incite further panic.”

“Fine.” Miller knew they were right. Just another thing to hate about the way the day was turning out. “Raven will show you where to go to find them, but you’re not to tell anyone what you’re doing.”

Murphy nodded and held out an elbow for Raven in mock gallantry. “Lead the way.”

Miller watched them enter the drop ship together with Monty at his side. “Fix Dax up, will you, and see if you can get him to talk.”

Monty nodded, looking determined, and left Miller standing alone. He put his hands on his hips and raised his face to the swiftly darkening sky, just as the heavens opened in a torrent of rain. 

“Fantastic.”

Clarke

 "Good boy, Savage!” Clarke cooed. She petted the top of his fluffy ebony head and he nuzzled her palm excitedly before leaping into her lap, straining to lick her face. Clarke laughed, feeling both amused and affectionate.

They’d been awake for an hour now, and after a delicious breakfast of some kind of fish, caught and cooked by her man because they’d all been stumped by the lack of a fishing pole, she was teaching her pup to sit on his little toosh for more than two seconds at a time and rewarding him with leftovers. It wasn’t exactly working, but then he was only a baby and it was working as a distraction from her unhappier thoughts.

Lincoln, meanwhile, was busy attempting to teach Octavia and Jasper the right way to fish – with an impromptu handmade spear of course. Jasper had looked a little dubious at first, but if the crowing he’d been doing for the past ten minutes was anything to go by then Lincoln was going a long way towards removing his hesitations. The horrors of the day before felt a million miles away, and she didn’t think she was the only one reluctant to move on.

"You named him Savage?!” Bellamy, returning from a perimeter check, turned towards Lincoln with an incredulous expression across his face. “Don’t you find that at all offensive??”

Lincoln spared him a small glance. “No.”

Clarke laughed aloud and nuzzled Savage when he took the noise as an invitation to jump all over her again. “Calm down, boy.”

Bellamy shook his head. “If his name turns out to be a premonition for his personality then I want you to remember this moment.”

Clarke scratched Savage behind the ears. “Aww, is the big bad Bellamy afraid of a little ball of fluff?”

Bellamy mimicked her babyish tone. “Little balls of fluff grow into big balls of fluff with teeth and claws that rip into human flesh.”

Savage’s floppy ears perked up and he yipped a happy greeting at Bellamy before bounding towards him. Bellamy looked a little lost when the puppy plopped down on his boot, panting with excitement, looking for all the world like he was waiting for his treat for such good behaviour.

Octavia looked over and burst out laughing. “Bellamy’s made a new friend.”

Bellamy scowled at his sister and tried to kick the puppy off of his boot, but even from where she was sitting she could see he was being gentle. Savage stepped off of Bellamy’s left boot, circled around like he was chasing his tail, and settled on his right boot.

“Seriously?” Bellamy exclaimed.

Even Lincoln joined the laughter that time and Clarke met his eyes, feeling a whole boat load of warm emotions. Emotions she wasn’t quite ready to talk about, but she could enjoy how they made her feel.

“Guys!” Harper called animatedly from somewhere out of sight in the forest. “I think I’ve found something.”

Clarke had almost forgotten about the other girl because she’d been so quiet that morning. She walked over and scooped Savage into her arms, giving Bellamy a taste of his own medicine and smirking, before heading towards the origin of Harper’s voice. At the sight of the mud slide she’d taken the previous evening she cuddled the puppy closer for comfort. In the daylight the hole she’d fallen into didn’t look as sinister as it had felt, and she reminded herself that something good had come from it – she’d gotten Savage, and the threat of the alpha was removed. She just didn’t want to feel that vulnerable again if she could help it.

“Over here.” Harper stood at the edge of a secondary hole a few metres away, pointing into it’s depths.

There was clearly a sandstone cavern system below the forest floor, the kind that had been there for a very long time, with smooth walls and curved openings that almost looked manmade but obviously weren’t. Maybe the trees themselves were a more recent development of the past hundred years – with the abnormal growth pattern of plants on a radiation soaked planet it was entirely possible. 

They approached as a unit and peered at the strangely well preserved vessels revealed by the shifting forest floor.

“Canoes!” Jasper voiced.

“Do you think they’re useable?” Harper looked to Clarke for an answer.

Clarke shrugged. “Let’s get one of them out and see.”

The girls stepped back to watch as the boys worked out a pulley system with some rope and after a little finagling, a ruby red fiberglass canoe was laid out before them. It was large enough to fit three people, and had a circular black logo on the side pronouncing it as belonging to ‘Bill’s River Adventures’.

“I’ve not seen ones like this.” Lincoln muttered, running his hands carefully along the hull. “It’s perfectly intact – we can use it to travel down river and cut our journey time down to a fraction.”

“Let’s get a move on then.” Bellamy drawled, already making efforts to pull another craft from the pit with Harper’s aid.

When the camp was packed away and the two craft were settled at the side of the river, Lincoln approached her with four improvised paddles. He’d lashed the flat plates of aluminium they’d used at breakfast to three large branches in what looked like a cross between an elongated pitch fork and a crude torch. He handed one to her and another to both Bellamy and Jasper.

He approached the closest canoe, shifted it so it was held firmly half way in the water and helped her perch in the front with Savage. Her pup whined a little at the rumble of the fast moving water, attempting to crawl into Clarke’s lap, but when that proved unsteady he settled in between her feet. Harper took up position in the middle and she arranged the backpacks Lincoln passed her securely by her feet. In the vessel next to them Jasper took up position at the front with Octavia behind him, and Bellamy getting ready to take the rear. He looked to Lincoln, as though unsure what to do.

Lincoln grinned and pushed at the boat with all his might, leaping lithely into the craft as it was caught by the current. Clarke looked back to see Bellamy follow suit, though apparently getting a little wetter in the process, and then took stock of their surroundings. The forest sailed past them at a good speed, a mass of deep green that remained eerily quiet despite the roar of the water running through it. Both canoes stayed in close proximity, with their paddles guiding them safely away from random scatterings of rocks submerged in the tide.

“How will we know when we’re there?” Octavia called out.

“I saw the map.” Lincoln said. “There was a pattern of bends to the north of the city, I remember them. I will navigate.”

“Righty ho.” Octavia cheered.

“We had you all wrong!” Bellamy joked. “Forget Tarzan, I’m looking at Robinson Crusoe.”

But Lincoln was right, he did have a good memory for geography. After a series of hair pin bends, they sailed in a large half moon shape and Clarke began to identify the ruins of a small city. Small mounds, rectangular or square in shape, that though completely covered in vines, were definitely hiding manmade structures beneath them. The river straightened out and Lincoln directed their craft towards a small pebbled beach area worn into the side of the river. Harper, Octavia and Jasper clambered into the shallows and helped the men pull both boats out of the current. Clarke took a firm hold of a nervous Savage and stepped ashore.

When both canoes were stored nearby, covered by ferns in the forest undergrowth as a precautionary measure, they headed in land. Out of the forest rose a huge rectangular building – it too was swamped in vines, many of the windows shattered, with a growth of trees rooted firmly in the crumbling far right wing. It would have been a modern building for it’s time, Clarke guessed, but the Grecian temple front meant it was also a building of importance. Two of the giant ivory supporting pillars at the entrance were still standing, while the other two were broken in several places, parts still clinging to the structure giving the semblance of gaping, jagged teeth.

They panned out, cautiously exploring the area in front of the structure. Clarke set Savage down on the grass to explore and climbed on top of part of a broken pillar and squinted against the sunlight reflected off surviving glass panes. There was an engraving just below the triangle, where vines hung down in tangled knots obscuring her view, but she could just about make out partial words, and when she did she burst out laughing. It was kismet.

“What is so amusing, Princess?” Lincoln stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her calves in support.

She grinned down at him. “It’s a high school. Sky High.”

Lincoln smiled at her, more at her expense than in shared amusement she thought, but she was taking it as a good sign. Finally. Sky High for the Sky People. This would be their home.

Lincoln’s arms stiffened and she grew alarmed. “What is it?”

He shushed her with his finger and gently pulled her down so she was behind him. She nabbed a frolicking Savage away from the dandelions he was attacking.

“We’ve been followed.” He stated calmly.

“How could someone have followed us?” Clarke gasped. She hissed at the others to get their attention and they cautiously sprinted over.

“I have known for a while we were being followed. I did not sense any ill intentions, but they must be very eager if they came down the river after us.”

A branch snapped at the edge of the forest and Murphy stepped out, his arms raised in surrender though his expression was anything but submissive, and directly behind him stood a young grounder male, his dagger pressed against Murphy’s jugular.

Raven

The worst of the sickness had passed in the night and the death toll rose to seventeen. Raven couldn’t believe they’d lost that much, but then she remembered how many of them were sick and had survived, how she had survived against all odds, and felt nothing but grateful.

She rose from the bed she’d been taking a nap in when she heard mumbled voices coming from outside the drop ship. It was early – too early for everyone to be awake yet. Besides, they’d sent most of the teenagers to the higher levels and closed the door as a safety measure, what with the threat of an impending grounder army. 

Dax stood at the front gate with a backpack hitched on his shoulder and a group of roughly ten teenagers surrounded him.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

A girl whose name she didn’t recall stepped forward with her chin raised in defiance. “We’re leaving.” She stated boldly, swinging her dark hair over her shoulder. “We heard what’s happening with the grounders – everyone else is too weak from the sickness and we’re not staying around to be slaughtered with them.”

Raven gaped at her. “We’re all going to leave as a camp, just as soon as Clarke and Bellamy get back from their scouting mission.” Too late she remembered that Dax still thought she believed they were dead. His face gave nothing away at her admission.

“That’s a lie.” The girl looked like she’d stamp her foot if she could. “They’re dead, and you’re not our leader.”

With that she swung about and yanked the gate open, marching off without a backwards glance. The others followed her, Dax finally giving a show of emotion by saluting Raven with a cocky grin.

“Whatever.” Raven grumbled. Too pissed off to try and convince them otherwise. She wasn’t Clarke. If they wanted to stake their lives on that creep’s say so then who was she to stop them? As long as there was still some semblance of order if…when their leaders returned then she was golden.

She turned around to head back inside and immediately came to a halt at the sight of multiple teenagers stood frozen in shock behind her.


	12. Seperation of the Heart and Home

Clarke

Murphy wasn’t difficult to identify, despite his battered appearance and the blackened blood smeared across his skin like war paint. Recognition aside, the changes she now observed since last they'd seen him were harrowing. Sure, he'd been a mess then too. Bellamy had been attempting to beat him to a pulp on the cliff top that night…and for good, if not entirely rational reasons...but this? This was something far worse. Clarke had a sneaky suspicion he'd been tortured. More than a suspicion really, a certainty. Bloody voids on his fingers where nails should be, and multiple small entry sites peppered throughout his clothing from undoubtedly sharp implements. Wounds not designed to kill, but to inflict pain again and again until a person cracked under the pressure. She winced, her fingers twitching in sympathy.

The grounder holding him hostage was a stranger to her, young faced and determined, but when she peered up at Lincoln she caught a glimpse of relief along with the recognition in his eyes. Still, Lincoln held his arms firmly away from his sides, corralling Clarke to prevent her escaping his protective stance. Instead of finding it annoying, it sent a thrill through her. He wanted to keep her safe, and Clarke wanted to let him. She was realising that made all the difference in her dealings with men. She shifted Savage in her arms, the pup content to be held for the moment, and settled her front against Lincoln's back. As inappropriate an occasion as it was turning out to be, Clarke couldn't contain her grin when she felt him shiver from the contact.

“Artigas.” Lincoln cleared his throat and injected a measure of sternness into his voice. “What is the meaning of this?”

The young grounder, Artigas, pushed his insolent quarry forth. "Ai don hon em up mafta op yu. Em laik splita, en em kwelnes." (I found him following you. He is a traitor, and he was sickened.)

“In English.” Lincoln replied. “I know you’ve completed your warrior’s training.”

Artigas looked vaguely mutinous. "Teik ai frag em op." (Let me kill him).

"Em pleni!" (Enough!)

Artigas repeated his first words with only a slight roll of his eyes, but he clearly respected Lincoln’s authority to do so at all. He reluctantly withdrew the knife from Murphy's neck, allowing him to straighten, but kept a strong hold of his captive's arm.

“Sickened?” Bellamy edged backwards, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun. The teens gathering behind him eyeballed Murphy like he was about to swarm them, coughing and spluttering, and spread some mysterious infectious disease.

Clarke ran her eyes over his slouched figure. As always, he looked smug and deliberately unconcerned, but she thought he might seem…almost repentant. He didn’t look particularly sick to her, though she knew well enough that illness could be deceiving. Murphy was pale – paler than normal even – and there was distinct purple bruising under his eyes. A recent lack of sleep could do that to a person, and an extended lack of nourishment. Then there was all that dried blood around his neck, front and cheeks that could only have spewed from his mouth and been hastily wiped away. Dry, not fresh. No – he looked like he might have been sick recently, but that clearly wasn’t the case now.

“Less of the irrational panic everyone, please.” Clarke pushed her way to Lincoln’s side, deliberately ignoring his scowl. “He's evidently not sick now, or else why are you touching him? But I think it's clear he was. So what I want to know is how he got that way, and what you know about it?”

Murphy grinned in that slightly maniacal way of his. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you missed me, Princess.”

“Now is not the time, Murphy.” Clarke waved her hand in dismissal.

Artigas tipped his chin at her. "He was found in our territory many days ago and became a captive – spoils of war."

"And the sickness?" Clarke ventured.

Lincoln shifted at her side. "It is another tactic of war – infect the one, return him to the many, infect the many."

"Biological warfare." Clarke muttered. 

Lincoln nodded his assent. "It weeds out the weak, quells the numbers – some people are naturally immune, others are not so fortunate."

Artigas added his confirmation. "Nyko sent me to warn you when he learned you were absent from the sky people's camp. I tracked you here, though it was hardly a challenge." It sounded a little like a reproach to Clarke.

"We had no reason to hide our intent." Lincoln admonished with a frown.

Clearly having had enough of the explanations, Bellamy stepped forward. "Murphy was banished. What could you hope to achieve by using him?"

"Actually." Murphy interrupted. "I was dumped back at the drop ship yesterday. Must have just missed you. Seems I really couldn't stay away."

Clarke gasped at the implication. "But that must mean the sickness has spread! We need to go back there; they’ll need our help."

Lincoln crossed his arms over his chest in a firm gesture and turned to face her. "I think not, little one. You will stay here."

Clarke snarled under her breath once the shock of his order dissipated. "I think so, big man."

"Murphy may have survived, but we don't know that you would. That any of you would." Lincoln looked among them all and frowned deeply. "You're not going."

Clarke put Savage at her feet and stood with her hands on her hips. The oblivious pup lay down on her feet for a nap. "I'd like to see you stop me. I’m their leader and they could be dead for all we know!"

"Alright, love birds." Murphy grinned in obvious amusement. "Why do you think I'm here?"

"Because some people never know when they're not wanted?" Bellamy asked with a straight face.

Murphy smirked. "Because Miller and Monty sent me. They’re fine by the way. Raven too, I suppose, though she was a little preoccupied with puking up blood. Fun times, trust me."

Octavia approached Clarke's other side, caressing her blade. "Do we still need this worm alive? I vote we float him."

Artigas chuckled and sent Octavia an admiring glance.

"As entertaining as the thought might be, we're not going to do that." Clarke met Murphy's eyes with resolve. "Why did you volunteer to bring us this information? You had to know you wouldn't get a welcome reception."

Murphy shifted, as though suddenly uncomfortable. "Atonement."

It was one word, but it was a powerful one. Clarke knew all about the need to atone for wrongs committed. Murphy had torn their camp apart on more than one occasion. He was the primary reason Charlotte killed herself. But didn't he act out of resentment and a feeling of betrayal? Weren't they, in part, responsible for what happened that day? Bellamy was his friend, probably one of the only friends he'd ever had, and he'd been prepared to allow the camp to hang him. And she had accused him of a murder he didn't commit, then sheltered the real killer from his wrath. Lord knew what he'd been through in the intervening weeks, but it was clear he was tired – tired to the bone - and wanted to come home. 

"You're not actually considering this, princess?" Bellamy argued. "You know what he did!"

Clarke gently extricated herself from the puppy, approached Bellamy and put her hand on his shoulder. Savage whined at the loss of his favourite bed, but trotted over to Octavia a few feet away and lay on her boots instead. "I won't ever forget what happened, Bellamy. I was there, just the same as you. But, truthfully, Charlotte was a murderer who took her own life – some would argue that was justice for Wells."

"She was a child." Bellamy spat angrily, shrugging away from her touch.

"We were all children." Clarke reminded him. Lincoln approached and drew her into his chest. She smiled wryly at her co-leader. "Except you, of course...though, sometimes I'm not entirely convinced of that."

Bellamy shot her a glare. "We can't just let him back among us. It's like allowing a wolf to herd a flock of sheep."

"He’s not about to lead the sheep, he’s about to become one. Besides, people change." Clarke stated with pure honesty. "I'm willing to give him another chance." 

She turned to face Murphy again. "One more chance to prove you're not the monster everyone thinks you are."

Bellamy looked stunned at her words and she knew she'd finally reached that part of him he so often hid. The slightly softer underbelly.

"Fine." He approached Murphy, jabbing his finger violently into the other boy’s chest. "But I'll be watching. You step out of line and you're done."

Murphy looked at the floor then met Bellamy's gaze unequivocally. "I understand."

"Okay." Clarke let out a relieved breath. "Time to wrap it up and head back to the dropship."

"Clarke!" Lincoln growled. The word vibrated through her chest.

"There's something else you should know." Murphy hesitated before meeting Clarke's eyes. "Spacewalker was captured by the grounders as well. He wasn't looking so hot the last time I saw him, but he managed to escape before they released me."

Clarke felt an instant pang of remorse that someone she had once cared for had been treated so ill. She also worried, despite her mixed emotions towards him. But if he was free, then he wasn't a priority – she had to admit he could take care of himself. Probably better than so many of them could – he’d escaped his torturers after all. The rest of the camp, however, was in imminent danger, and they were her responsibility. 

She nodded sadly before straightening her shoulders. "What's the status of the camp?"

"The death toll was at 12 when I left – many more were sick, but I think that was the worst of it. The biggest concern was the imminent arrival of the grounders...and your survival."

Lincoln frowned thoughtfully. "Our survival?" 

"Dax returned to camp – he was injured and alone. Claimed he was the sole survivor of an attack by wild dogs." Murphy shrugged. "Almost everybody thinks your dead at this point."

"Jesus." Octavia and Harper exclaimed in tandem.

“What the hell?!” Jasper echoed.

Clarke looked from Bellamy to Lincoln. "You see why we have to go back, right? It's not a question of the sickness, or even the grounders attacking – if word gets out that we all died, that their leaders are gone, that the possibility of a new home is shot, it'll be chaos."

"More than Raven and Miller could probably handle." Bellamy mused. “Or should have to handle.”

"‘Whatever the hell we want’ all over again." Jasper grumbled.

"So we split up." Lincoln decreed decisively. "Bellamy, Jasper, Murphy and I will return to lead the others safely here. The three of you will stay and prepare for our return."

"I know you didn't just tell the little women to stay safe and tend the hearth." Octavia threw all the nodding men a disgusted look.

"I'm the one with the best medical knowledge." Clarke reminded him. "I should be the one to go."

"And get sick if it still lingers? No. We need you here – we'll bring the survivors to you for their recovery, but I will not risk you in this."

"I agree." Bellamy said. "We need you here, princess. One of us has to decide if the school is actually liveable and start making arrangements."

Clarke dismissed him. "Of course you agree. You're practically a relic with your twentieth century misogynistic views." 

Octavia cracked up and nudged Clarke in camaraderie.

Bellamy gestured between them. “I don’t think I like this new found friendship at all.”

Lincoln drew Clarke into his arms and backed her against the broken pillar behind them. In this position, with his head lowered and his voice a hushed rumble, they gained a modicum of privacy. He laid his hand over the site of her healing wound, pressing down gently to direct her attention.

“I do not say this out of fear alone, but practicality.” He moved his hand to cup her cheek, making her instantly melt. “You are not yet healed, and as much as you try to conceal it from the others, I know you are tired and in pain. The fall also didn’t help with that.”

Clarke frowned. She didn’t want him to be right, not in this instance when her instincts told her she shouldn’t part from him, and she shouldn’t let others do her job for her. But she was tired, and her stomach did ache.

She stared into his intense gaze. “I’m not weak.”

“I’ve never known anyone so strong.” Lincoln peppered her face with kisses like the fleeting touch of butterfly wings. “But there is strength in acknowledging temporary defeat, if only to rally again the next day.”

“Are they always like this?” Clarke heard Murphy question.

“Worse.” Bellamy responded.

Clarke ignored them both and sighed in resignation. What Lincoln proposed made sense, as much as it grated her conscience. “Fine. I’ll stay. But you should let Octavia go and leave Murphy with me – he’s not up for that kind of journey right now.”

Lincoln turned to stare at Murphy, running an assessing gaze over his figure. “I don’t know that I trust him.”

Clarke gripped his collar and reached up to pepper his chin with kisses, returning the favour. His skin was warm and tasted faintly of salt. The scruff from the beginnings of a beard tickled the sensitive edges of her lips. She paused to look at him, relishing in his undivided attention. “I do, so stop worrying.”

“Then that is enough for me.” Lincoln decided. He pulled her in for a kiss – not a small, light touch like before, but a deep, wet one full of tongues battling for dominance. She leant fully against him, drawing comfort from his now familiar heat. He grasped her to him with the kind of confidence and passion that sped up her heart and caused her to take shallow, hurried breaths. She drew back reluctantly, her teeth grazing his bottom lip and pulling a groan from his throat. 

Clarke felt an instant and uncomfortable pang in her chest. “Hurry back, and be careful.”

“Always.” He gave her one last fervent glance before striding towards the others.

As if sensing her need for comfort, Savage gambled over and gazed up at her, letting out a little puppy bark for attention. She knelt to pick him up and then cradled him against her chest. The little guy was an excellent comfort giver.

“Murphy you are to stay with Clarke and Harper. Octavia, you will come with us.”

“Just wait a minute…” Bellamy began disputing. 

“Shut it, big brother.” Octavia quarrelled. “You know you’d rather be able to keep an eye on me, so don’t bother.”

Bellamy spluttered before grunting his consent. “Fine. But for god’s sake, behave.”

“Sayonara.” Octavia called, waving jauntily as she followed Bellamy and Jasper back towards the woods that would lead to the concealed canoes.

“What about me?” Artigas trailed behind Lincoln.

Lincoln didn’t bother turning back. “You’re to go home, where you belong.” 

Artigas looked back at her and winked. “Looks like we’re heading in the same direction then.”

He jogged to catch up with Octavia and she saw Lincoln shake his head in exasperation. Her poor man. Clarke surprised herself by laughing. Murphy and Harper both came to stand in front of her with expectant expressions.

“I suppose we’d better see a man about a house.” She joked.

 

Miller

 

Miller threw the now empty bucket to the ground with a clank and watched the last embers of the main camp fire sizzle out. Smoke billowed skywards in great choking clouds that stung his eyes, just at the smell of charred wood stung his nostrils. It was the first time since they’d set up a permanent home at the dropship that the fire was being extinguished altogether, and it felt mildly prophetic. They thought they’d be safe within these walls, so painstakingly put together with scrap metal and trees. But the time had come for them to move on from the only safety they’d known on the ground, or else risk annihilation. 

Things probably couldn’t be any worse. Actually, scratch that. They most definitely could get worse – you know, say, if the grounders reached them before they managed to clear out the camp. What was left of it, that is. He and Raven obviously couldn’t have done a worse job at managing these teens. He didn’t know what it took to keep them in line, but he with his easy-going mannerisms, and Raven with her preoccupation of all things engineering, clearly didn’t have it. Maybe all it took was a bossy blonde who liked inspirational speeches, and a guy with a big brother complex who aced at them.

“What are we going to tell Clarke?” Monty’s eyes were huge orbs in his face as he approached Miller. 

He tugged his backpack further up his shoulders and eyed the teenagers straggling behind him. There was roughly forty of them…forty teens that didn't buy into Dax’s scaremongering tactics and blatant peer pressure attempts. Bundled up with as many practical possessions as they could carry. But that left the forty or so that did, now traipsing somewhere outside the camp walls among the hunting grounders.

“How about we just concentrate on getting out of here alive.” Raven marched past them towards the dropship with determined strides. It had been emptied of all essentials but she’d confided in him that she might be able to lock it remotely. Keep it safe for their use in the future, if ever a time should come when it was safe to return. “We can worry about how to explain the loss of half the camp to mummy and daddy later.”

He knew she was frustrated and blaming herself for the earlier defections, and he’d make her see reason later. It was neither of their faults – when the rest of the camp had exited the dropship to that tense scene it was only a matter of time before dissention brewed. That many of them still feared getting sick or being held back by those who were still recovering from the sickness was as much to blame as anything else.

“Worse things have happened.” Miller finally responded to Monty. He raised his voice so they would all hear him now. “I know everyone’s frightened, and I wish I could tell you that everything is going to be fine, but I’d be lying. There are grounders out there, intent on killing us, but if we stay here death is a certainty. We’re all tired, and many of you were sick and probably need more time before making this journey, but that’s something we don’t have. If we stick together, we’ll get through this alright in the end.”

The harsh bang and subdued click of the dropship locking seemed as though it was timed especially for the end of his speech, making a few people jump. Raven crawled out of the access tunnel she’d used, closing it seamlessly behind her before brushing off accumulated dirt. “All set.”

“Right, we’re going to do this in pairs. Stick with your partner – if they need help, you’re it. If they fall behind, you fall behind. But I’m warning you, do not fall behind. No loud talking either – we don’t need to send any scouting grounders a homing beacon.”

With a final nod, Miller led the way out of camp with Raven at his side. “You sure you’ve got this?” His voice was a mere whisper.

“I told you.” She sounded annoyed. Better than guilt, so he’d take it. “I scanned those maps with Lincoln myself. I know exactly where we need to go.”

“I’m trusting you.” He reassured.

"You better.” Raven gave him a small smile. It was a little disturbing how much that little lip tilt messed with his insides.

He let his thoughts come into focus as they passed through familiar forest, headed away from the dropship and the grounder territory it stood on. They had only gone a few hundred metres when the drums started. They seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once – rhythmic sounds that echoed off the trees and confused the mind. Filled it with anticipation and dread – exactly what they were intended for. Miller’s stomach dropped.

“What is that?” Someone exclaimed.

“War drums!” Someone else shrieked in panic.

“Jesus.” Miller hushed the rising voices and flapped his arms about in a signal for quiet. “We don’t have time to freak out – let’s keep going people, and pick up the pace.”

He reached for Raven’s hand, ignoring her furious pout, and broke out into a light jog. Monty was instantly by his side, glancing around worryingly for an invisible foe. Invisible until they wanted to be seen – or heard as the case might be. Behind him the teenagers lost all attempts at stealth – branches snapped under their pounding feet and their fearful pants filled the air.

Just as the drums increased in tempo, seeming closer and altogether further away, several loud blasts sounded over the forest. Metal screeched and earth shifted, rocking the forest floor as something large impacted in the distance, and covering the alarmed screams around him.

It lasted just seconds really, but the resulting silence was absolute. Miller had a really bad feeling about this. Really bad.

“What the fuck was that?” Raven hissed at his side. They had crouched on the floor defensively like so many others and now stood, looking around bewilderedly.

“I think…I think it might have been another drop ship.” Monty whispered frantically.

Miller thought he might be on to something, but just because the drums had stopped, didn’t mean the danger had disappeared. “I don’t know, and right now I don’t want to know either. I say we take the distraction as a boon and get the hell out of here.”

“I agree.” Raven worried her lip. He grasped her hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

“Not our problem.” 

 

Clarke

 

They stood in front of the double doors as though waiting for a butler to open them in a flourish. They would have been grand enough for it, once upon a time. Now they were stained with the passage of time – blackened and half rotted. Clarke lazily ran her eyes over the windows at the side, then did a double take. Did the ragged remains of that curtain just twitch? She must have imagined it. No, there it goes again. There was probably a broken window out of sight providing a breeze. Nothing to worry about.

The door creaked open, seemingly by it’s own volition, and Savage seized the opportunity to dash forward, barking his shrill puppy barks as he disappeared from sight into the property.

“Savage!” Clarke exclaimed.

She ran after him, pushing aside the heavy door to widen the gap. Then she stopped cold. In the middle of the marbled atrium, among the collection of browned, crackling leaves and tangled draping of wires, a tall stranger stood with her puppy in his arms.


	13. Domestic, Not Quite Domesticated

Chapter Thirteen

Clarke

 

Clarke had once heard it said that animals were trustworthy judges of character. That they could sniff out anger, deceit, or harmful intent towards their owners and would react accordingly. If that was the case, then the grounder holding Savage carefully between his large mitts was the equivalent of a tree hugging hippy. Savage panted away with excitement, his tongue lolling to the side when it wasn’t reaching enthusiastically to lick the large man’s cheek, and a satisfied look graced his cute puppy face. Could a dog even look satisfied? Well, she could swear Savage did. Her immediate wariness notwithstanding, she hadn’t missed the fact that the stranger was being gentle with the exuberant puppy. That scored him some immediate brownie points, but barely. He was still, after all, a stranger.

Coming up behind her she heard Harper draw in a shocked breath. “When you said we were going to see a man about a house, I didn’t think you meant literally see a man about a house.”

“I’m just that good.” Clarke kidded. “Please stand by for my next feat of astonishing psychic prowess.”

Harper laughed. “I think your brain is broken. You couldn’t have foreseen this at an earlier point in time?”

Clarke grumbled good-naturedly. Of all the concerns they’d contemplated about their possible move, the idea that their chosen town was already occupied by individuals outside of a known clan wasn’t among them. They’d assumed an unclaimed territory meant unclaimed land. But it was clear to her that this guy was alone. He stood in the shadows, assessing them – undoubtedly evaluating their numbers and skill set - rather than taking a warrior’s stance. Weapons had yet to be drawn, and if she could avoid that happening altogether then at least something would have gone right with the day. The confident I-have-a-clan-that-will-avenge-any-insult-to-me-and-you-offend-me-just-by-existing stereotype she’d come to associate with the grounders was missing. The ones she wasn’t romantically involved with or receiving medical care from at any rate. 

She wondered if he had been this way for a long time, and what that might do to a person’s psyche – but most of all she wondered why he was alone in the first place. Something – some instinctive part of her told Clarke he didn’t mean them harm. Her intuition wasn’t perfect, but her relationship with Lincoln made her feel like she owed it to him to give his people the benefit of the doubt first. Not everyone meant to kill them. Maybe, just maybe, they could gain another ally.

“Is this your house?” Murphy spoke with a practised air of disregard. “Our bad. We’ll just be leaving now.”

“I’m Clarke of the Skaikru.” She stepped forward, ignoring the deeply aggrieved sigh from Murphy. She gestured to his squirming bundle. “And that’s Savage. He’s a little excitable, as you can see.”

Light streamed from a large, jagged-paned window at the rear of the entrance hall, high above the relic of a grand staircase. The man stepped forward into the warm, yellowed flood that sent scattered shadows across the mucky floor. Among his rough, dark features - the shadow of a beard, the long, burnt coffee coloured straggles of hair drawn back from his face by those purposeful warrior braids of old - she immediately noticed the scars. Intentional, almost decorative, intricate half moons that curved down from his forehead to his cheek bones. His face was angular, handsome – his figure tall and strong, and clothed in the black leathers and furs that were typical of his people. The scarring was new though – aside from the circles used to proudly signal a death count, Clarke hadn’t observed these marks.

“I am Roan of Azgeda.” He took another step forward and his icy blue eyes rose to meet her own. 

She sensed deep intelligence there, and a measure of cunning. Not a surprise. Many of them might look down on the grounders as little more then savages, with strange customs and stranger beliefs, but who had survived an apocalypse on a radiation soaked planet with little to no supplies? Not them. Who had survived and thrived in a violent society that only respected the strong? Not them either. Though they were trying, weren’t they?

Clarke smiled tentatively. “Azgeda. I’m not familiar with the word. Is it far?”

“Many days walk from here.” He replied. “The cold lands in the North.”

“Then you’re a long way from home.” She deduced. Therefore, unlikely to betray them and run home and return with reinforcements while they slept.

A quick nod. “As are you.”

Touché. “We didn’t realise this place was already occupied, or else we wouldn’t have entered unannounced. We can find other shelter within the town limits…”

“There is no need.” He placed Savage on the floor and the pup immediately hurtled into a pile of dead leaves, barking when they scattered like feathers in the wind. “There is room here. One man can only occupy so much space.”

“I’m sure there are other structures we could set up shop in, Princess.” Murphy hissed in her ear. He probably thought he was being quiet, but the hall acted as a natural amplifier. “Let’s get your furry friend and move on before you unintentionally become chopped liver.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. She was busy watching Savage have his fun, pouncing on every escapee leaf as though determined to catch them all, and it struck her as somehow perfect. This place felt right. She’d known it as soon as she’d seen the sign for Sky High – pun intended. “Concerned about my life? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you might’ve missed me, John Murphy.”

Murphy looked incredulous. “Did you have a personality transplant that I don’t know about? What happened to the strike first, repent later mentality?”

“Much good that would do you all.” Clarke mused. “I’m getting mighty tired of being displaced.”

“There is no other shelter to be had.” Roan interjected with a calm voice. “At least, none with a working roof. Besides, I would welcome the company.”

“I bet you would.” Murphy muttered.

“Excuse my friend. He’s justifiably a little edgy around strangers. Especially of the native variety.” Clarke ran her eyes over the room appreciatively for the first time. “And it’s just you here…alone?”

“Yes.” His stance was relaxed; his eye contact direct and expressionless. He didn’t seem to be lying, but Clarke couldn’t get much of a read on him besides that.

“I don’t know if you had this much company in mind.” She stressed. “We’re just shy of a hundred, all told.”

His eyes widened a fraction, then he shrugged broadly, as though he’d already come to a decision and would stick by it. “There’s enough room.”

“Alright.” Clarke grinned. She clapped her hands together and Savage barked in startled reproach. He scampered to her feet looking for comfort, despite it being her who startled him in the first place. Clarke picked the silly puppy up, murmuring softly. “Let’s take a look around, shall we?”

Roan strode towards the arched entrance to the left wing. One of the forest green doors was hanging half off it’s hinges and propped open by a large rock. He swung the other one wide and held his arm out gallantly towards her. “Ladies first.”

Harper fidgeted at her side. Clarke moved an evaluating eye over Roan, who waited patiently for her to accept his offer of welcome. She smiled at him in a bid for friendship and his answering smile was vaguely flirtatious – his eyes lit and ran down her body in obvious appraisal as she walked past. She’d have to keep an eye on that, but as soon as Lincoln returned he’d know she was taken. As in taken. For now, he was a new friend and ally, and temporarily their best bet at survival in this new place – who knew what secretly helpful information was stored in that brain of his. She fully intended to pick at it.

 

Bellamy

 

“If that little twerp doesn’t stop flirting with my sister I’m going to rearrange his face.” Bellamy spat. “And not in an attempt to make his ugly mug handsome either.”

He spied Lincoln’s mouth twitching and growled his displeasure. “Tell me again why we couldn’t have taken the canoes and ditched him as soon as we docked? This trek is taking too long – too many opportunities for some people to get overly chummy.”

They’d been walking for the better part of the day and only now approached vaguely familiar forest. Though if you asked him to tell you exactly where they were he would have been stumped. Bellamy had been patient the first few times Octavia’s flirtatious giggles reached him. He’d even tried his hardest to pass it off as genuine gentlemanly behaviour when the grounder had helped Octavia over fallen trees or held back branches for her. But enough was enough.

“You know why.” Lincoln stepped lithely around a trunk in their path without a downward glance. “Paddling downstream is an entirely different story to travelling against the current. Hence why it was so easy for both our stalkers to follow us by boat and at speed.”

He said the last with a hint of annoyance Bellamy could completely understand. They hadn’t made any effort to hide their trail, and consequently they’d attracted not just one tail, but two. The grounders would know their new permanent location once the annoying kid grounder reached home – but then, that was part of the point in moving – letting Trikru know they were learning to respect territorial boundaries. At least neither of their stalkers were Finn, though he could still prove to be a big problem if what Murphy said is true and the already unravelling boy had been tortured. He could now become a positively unhinged problem.

Jasper sent the giggling couple a worried glance. “Maybe I should check on them.”

Bellamy clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man.”

They watched Jasper gambol ahead and casually insert his lanky body between Octavia and Artigas. The latter sent his sister an amused look that she returned with a knowing grin. Then Jasper turned blatant moon eyes on Octavia, his hands fluttering about her as though to offer assistance she hardly needed when the ground was flat and she had two perfectly working legs of her own. Jesus – you’d think she was a tower-owning, bird-singing damsel in distress with the way these idiots behaved. It could almost make a man long for the days when she hid under the floor at the first sign of non-familial members, well away from hormonal teenage boys. Almost, but not quite. He sighed in defeat.

“I think you just traded one Romeo for another.” Lincoln advised.

“No shit.” He gazed furtively at his companion when he fell silent. “How you coping being away from your Juliet?”

Lincoln rumbled a light laugh. “We’re hardly Shakespearean material.”

He grinned smugly. “Nice redirection tactic, but you’re not fooling me.”

“I trust Clarke to take care of herself.” Lincoln followed up his statement with a frown, as though he meant his words, but that didn’t mean he liked them.

“But you’d rather be the one taking care of her, am I right?” He surmised.

Lincoln quirked a brow. “You did not strike me as the type to point out the obvious.”

Bellamy shrugged. “I’m not, unless it serves my purpose.”

Lincoln smiled faintly. “And that would be?”

“Distraction, my friend.”

They both gazed ahead at the young and for once, worry-free youths. “Why does it bother you so much?” 

He chuckled lowly. “You don’t have any siblings; I take it?”

“Births are hard on my people.” Lincoln shrugged at the sobering fact. “I would have loved to have a brother when I was a young boy.”

Bellamy thought it was sort of ironic, in a sense. The earth needed populating, and the people that had survived here had been finding it hard to see to that duty properly – if you could call it a duty at all. Personally, he was all about the practise, not the sometimes-bountiful results. Meanwhile, the people on the ark could procreate all too prolifically, and there the council was placing strictures and removing civil liberties to stop it happening. His mother was dead because of it.

His grin had a wry slant. “When you finally impregnate Clarke, we’ll revisit this conversation.”

Lincoln shook his head in denial. Then he stilled, as sudden and deadly as an air lock closure, scanning the forest ahead with wary, darkened eyes. Bellamy felt the first tingles of fear sweep up his spine at Lincoln’s single, harsh word. “Stop.”

His voice was quiet, but the power of it carried. Octavia and her fan club turned around with questioning gazes, but once they saw Lincoln’s attentive stance they backtracked with careful steps. Artigas mimicked Lincoln’s pose at Octavia’s side and Bellamy almost thought he saw his ear twitching. It kind of reminded him of Clarke’s irritatingly cute puppy.

He moved closer to Lincoln. “What is it?”

“People.” Lincoln answered in a hushed voice. “Many of them, heading this way.”

Bellamy looked around for somewhere to hide. The trees were an obvious choice to him, remembering the wild dogs and the apple grove, but if the grounders were coming then didn’t they usually scout ahead in the highest branches anyway? They were pretty much doomed, by his reckoning. It’s not as if the grounders would fail to notice five people crouched amongst the shrubbery. But then, he was with two grounders, wasn’t he? They’d stand a better chance than he at getting them out of this mess in five non-speared, whole pieces. 

He looked to Lincoln for direction, both hating the fact he needed someone else, and applauding his good sense. Clarke didn’t know what she was talking about when she said he was rash and didn’t know how to delegate – how was this for delegation? He was a pro.

“What should we do?” he hissed under his breath.

Lincoln did a double take, as though the concept of Bellamy following someone else’s orders was outside of his realm of understanding. “What do you mean, what should we do? I thought you would be bellowing orders left, right and centre.”

“Funny.” Bellamy scowled. “They’re your people, therefore I’m deferring to you.”

“It’s kind of you to say so.” Lincoln grinned and nodded towards the sounds of trampling grass and breaking branches. “But they’re your people too. Take a closer look.”

Bellamy looked up in time to see Raven and Miller emerge from the thicket directly ahead, the first of a recognisable crowd looking ragged and irritable, and slightly scared, but a hugely welcome sight all the same. All the pent-up breath went out of him in one fell swoop and he found himself grinning widely at the pair. Raven looked up then and the pure relief that spread over her features made Bellamy’s grin widen to shark-like proportions. 

She elbowed Miller, who immediately came running forward and they indulged in one of their manly back-pounding hugs that absolutely did not mean they had been worried about each other’s well-being. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Octavia and Raven hugging, and Jasper and Monty clutching at each other as though a tornado might sweep one of them away at a moment’s notice.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Bellamy smiled at the converging delinquents who were looking a little teary in their obvious reassurance by the happy accident. He eyed the back edges of the circling crowd and did the mental math before turning back to Raven and Miller with a confused frown. “But where’s everyone else?”

Octavia paled at his side, realising as he did that they were short around 40 teenagers. “You lost that many to the sickness?”

“We lost that many to Dax.” Raven corrected.

“Yeah.” Bellamy frowned. “I heard he’s been telling some tall tales.”

“Murphy made it to you then.” Miller sighed. “I’m glad.”

“I want you to tell me everything that happened with Dax.” Bellamy raised his voice and looked as many of them in the eye as possible. “But first, let me put some of your minds to rest. The good news is that we’ve found a new home that should help shore up our problems with the grounders and provide adequate shelter for us all going into the future – Clarke is there right now, sorting things out for us all.”

He continued with a grimace. “The bad news, is that you’ve still got half a day’s walk before we’ll reach there and it’d be better to sleep than continue in the steadily encroaching darkness.”

“Actually.” Lincoln broke in. “It’ll be quicker to head towards the river, just a few hours in land from here. It’ll be a tight fit with the remaining canoes, but we can do it. Even if we have to build rafts to tow.”

“Right. You heard Lincoln.” Bellamy announced, briefly patting the taller man on the back, much to his amusement. “I know you’re all tired, but in a few hours we’ll be home and you can all rest. I might even let you off latrine duty for the day.”

That got him a few laughs and they seemed to relax under the idea of permanency, as well as knowing their leaders were truly alright and there trying to take care of things again. Bellamy let Lincoln take the lead, though he seemed to be arguing with Artigas, who rather than completing his journey home seemed to have decided to accompany them back to Front Royal.

He turned to Miller. “You did good.”

Miller almost looked like he was blushing. “Not as good as you and Clarke would have done.”

“I don’t know about that.” Bellamy shook his head. “Leadership has no simple solutions.”

“There’s something else you should know.” Miller whispered to Bellamy as an aside. “We’re pretty sure we heard another drop ship crash back when we were running from the grounder army.”

Bellamy felt his gut tighten. “Any survivors?”

“We were too busy escaping the war drums to count survivors.” Raven interrupted on a hiss.

“But it’s a possibility.” Miller rolled his eyes at her in a silent admonishment. Bellamy was shocked when she heeded it. “It’ll need investigating.”

“Right.” Bellamy sighed. “I’ll take a leaf out of Clarke’s book and say we’ll deal with it tomorrow. For now, let’s just get back to our new home without losing anyone else.”

 

Clarke

So far, Sky High seemed more than suitable for their needs. It seemed perfect – just like she’d sensed. What little furniture there probably was to begin with was lying in splinters, most likely repurposed for fire wood. The same could be said for the stair rail, conspicuously absent from all but the midway landing of the large steps as they took their journey skyward. The elements had a done a number on the walls, making the aged paint look as though nails had gouged rivulets from ceiling to floor in the faded avocado green and magnolia. Many of the windows at the front and back were still intact, but the large picture window above the stairs had so many of the big panes missing it gave the place a decidedly haunted-house appeal. This aside, the place was dry, insulated, and with any luck, easily defensible.

It was dark outside now, but they’d done their best throughout the daylight hours to patch up the windows in the main hall of the left wing that Clarke had quickly chosen as their common area, and the chill of the night air hadn’t reached them. It was further chased away by their liberal use of the convenient grand fireplace and the plentiful fire wood, supplied by a Murphy who seemed keen to prove his worth. Clarke had cleared out several large rooms leading off the hall and mentally designated them for food preparation and storage, and even set aside space for engineering and comms. A small room off the common room would also do as office space for her and Bellamy – she wanted to call it the tactical room, but that meant she was expecting to need it for warring purposes and she was determined they start off this venture with nothing but peace in mind.

An expected lack of indoor plumbing and a healthy (and justified, if Earth history was anything to go by) fear of disease meant they would need to designate an area outside as a latrine, but Clarke had spied some stone outhouses she hadn’t had time to examine which could prove perfect. They might even be able to rig together some showers – she delighted at the thought. They’d found plenty of rooms on the upper levels too – enough that many of the 100 could have one of their own, so long as they were willing to double up on occasion. The right wing was yet a mystery to them, though she’d caught Murphy disappearing there for a time as if to reassure himself that a grounder army didn’t lie in wait. Her mind had practically swirled all day with plans for farming, water supplies, hunting grounds, and even the possibility of a wall, to ensure their continued security.

She looked around her now at their indoor camp set up which was remarkably like their outside one – centered around the fire with their sleeping bags as they were. Harper was already asleep, and although Murphy pretended to be, he flinched at the slightest crackle from the fire, or the rustle of a blanket. Clarke wondered if it was a side effect of the torture she hadn’t wanted to ask him about, or if he was jumpy being back with the people who banished him which led to his imprisonment. Trust would have to be worked on for both sides before everyone was comfortable.

Clarke sighed and snuggled under her own blanket with Savage, who whined in contentment, though she was missing Lincoln with a pang that wasn’t sharp, but constant and burning worse than the throb of her abused wound. She hoped he was okay wherever he was – that he was safe and missing her as much as she was him – though she was reluctant to even think of him in any discomfort. Right before she drifted off, she thought she caught Roan’s eyes across the fire, blazing into the her own with a light she’d tried hard to put out in their interactions that day. She didn’t have the energy to address the issue right then, but she would. Tomorrow she would, she promised herself. Tomorrow.

…………….

It felt like she’d only just closed her eyes when a throat cleared loudly above her, startling her awake. She was warm and snug, despite the dying firelight, so she looked up into Bellamy’s somehow antagonising eyes and frowned her displeasure. 

“We were gone for one day. Woman, I knew you worked fast, but not that fast.” He sounded amused, but also concerned.

Clarke sat up in shock when she belatedly realised her warmth was the by-product of proximity to another sleeping body – one she was damn sure had been on the other side of the fire before she’d passed out. She stared open mouthed and red-cheeked from a rousing Roan, who arm was loosely laid around her hips, to a sentinel styled Bellamy, and then with growing alarm to Lincoln, who stood staring at her as though the sight before his eyes was too painful to give it more than a passing glance.


	14. These Lonely Roads

Disclaimer: All things The 100 related belong to Kass Morgan and the writers of the amazing TV show – the rest is mine!

 

Chapter Fourteen

Lincoln

 

For a moment, one tiny, insignificant moment, Lincoln wanted to do nothing more than close his eyes and his mind to the sight before him – the beginnings of abject misery curdling in his gut. But then he watched Clarke scramble up from her bedding, the blankets twisting around her ankles and causing her to trip in her haste to get away from the man reclined beside her. She looked frantic, and uncomfortable, and most of all, nervous. She didn’t have anything to worry about – he knew then from her shock and confusion at finding someone sleeping besides her that her kindness had been taken advantage of. He knew the allure she presented to a man who felt the melancholic grip of loneliness – the kind of ideas she could unconsciously project into your mind with one smile, one sweet word – home and happiness and hope. He didn’t imagine anyone felt as alone and in such need of a person like Clarke in their life as the long-banished prince of Azgeda. He understood. But that didn’t and wouldn’t excuse the overstep. 

Clarke stumbled to his side and tugged on his arm until he pulled her in close. She was soft and warm from sleep – her cheeks rosy, though that could partially be from the embarrassment. He ran his chilled hands over their curve and pressed a kiss to her up-tilted mouth. “Do not even think of apologising.” He assured in a low voice meant only for her. “I have more trust in you than to take such things at face value.”

She relaxed into his side with a sigh and kissed his palm. “Thank god. I really don’t know what happened – one minute he was asleep across the fire, and the next thing I know I’m waking up with a cuddle buddy.”

“You were talking in your sleep.” Roan spoke gruffly, reclined back on his elbows looking directly at Clarke, who couldn’t seem to fully meet his bold gaze. “I didn’t want you to be scared and you calmed once I approached.”

“Em laik ain.” (She is mine.) Lincoln closed his arms around Clarke, bracing himself with his feet and shoulders aligned as Roan leisurely stood up and stretched. The leisurely part of his movements was purposely deceptive –his muscles were tensed for a potential fight that Lincoln would not be unprepared for. “Yu nowe lufa em au – Yu nowe teina.” (You don’t look at her – you especially don’t touch her.)

Roan cocked an insolent eyebrow. Yes, Lincoln sounded like a sore bear, but he wanted this cleared up. “Taim em yus, taimm yu nowet ban em na shil em op.” (If she is yours, then you shouldn’t have left her unguarded.)

“Vout in fema gaf shil em op?” (Since when do women need protecting?) Lincoln grunted. Even if he agreed with Roan’s words, he also felt a morsel of protest on Clarke’s behalf. Maybe all her feelings on equality of the sexes were finally getting to him – or else it was a reminder that before her presence in his life, Lincoln had never even entertained the idea of protecting a woman just because she was a woman and seemed somehow frailer to him. “Klark na shil emi op.” (Clarke can protect herself.)

“Em dula mai em splita.” (She deserves better than a traitor.) Roan probably thought his accompanying smile was charming, but he’d just said one of the few words Clarke was guaranteed to understand and she was now sending him unhappy looks.

“Laik splita Haiplana yongon?” (Like a traitor prince?) Lincoln laughed softly. “Questa em vout in yu hed, od nai blem jun. Trut, od na nai blem od ful.” (Ask her what she thinks of your title, it will matter little. In fact, it will not matter at all.)

“Okay, enough.” Clarke rubbed a small hand down his back in a soothing manner and flicked her eyes worriedly between the two warriors. “I understood about ten of those words, but the tone did not sound friendly – and we’re all friends here, right?”

“I apologise.” Roan pressed a hand to his chest in an oddly gallant gesture. “I meant no disrespect.”

“It’s okay. A little inappropriate, but misunderstandings happen…so long as it doesn’t happen again.” Clarke assured him, though Lincoln knew the scowl he directed at the Prince didn’t exactly signal his agreement. “I should have made my position clearer to you from the start. I’m with Lincoln – I’m his, and he’s mine.”

“I understand.” Roan looked anything but understanding.

Savage broke the tense exchange in the way only a child or animal could. Up until that point Lincoln was contemplating giving him an award for the world’s worst guard dog – he’d seemingly slept through the entire heated exchange until just then, when he poked his tiny, sooty head up from the mess of blankets and barked a greeting their way. Savage strolled through Roan’s parted legs, stopping only to sniff Roan’s foot and promptly take a piss against the man’s boot, then trotted over to circle Clarke and Lincoln until she stopped staring open-mouthed at Roan’s shoe and reached down to bring him into their cuddle. He swiped his tongue against Lincoln’s neck and he chuckled at the ticklish sensation to cover for the pure male amusement coursing through his veins. He mentally took back every negative thought he’d ever had about the pup - he was the best damn guard dog Lincoln could have asked for.

“Naughty, Savage.” Clarke gently scolded. She turned dancing, apologetic eyes on Roan. “I’m really sorry about that, he’s not exactly house trained yet.”

“No problem.” Roan muttered. Behind them he heard repressed sniggers.

Lincoln smiled down at Clarke, pressing a gentle kiss to first one cheek and then the other, all the while he sent subtle warnings with his body language to Roan. He would not be getting close to Clarke again, not if he had anything to say about it. But what was the outcast doing here anyway?

“Why are you here?” Bellamy moved to Lincoln’s side and took the words right out of his mouth. The show of solidarity was a welcome reminder that he had made friends here.

“This was…is Roan’s home.” Clarke answered in an overly bright tone. “We’re going to share – there’s more than enough room, just wait till you see the scope of the place, and we could always use more allies, don’t you think?”

“I’m not sure the prince knows how to share properly.” Lincoln remarked in gonasleng so everyone understood his meaning. “Or else he tries to share things that aren’t his to stake with a claim.”

“Prince?” Bellamy shook his head. “Am I the only one sensing a theme here?”

Clarke turned curious and slightly distrustful eyes on Roan, who looked momentarily discomforted. Good, Lincoln thought – it was better they got everything out in the open. Prince or no, he wasn’t higher on the totem pole than anyone else here. Not anymore. “You’re a prince?”

“My mother is Queen of Azgeda.” Roan neatly deflected.

Octavia pushed her way past Bellamy and eyed Roan from head to toe. There was a mischievous slant to her burgeoning smile that Lincoln had come to associate with imminent nonsensical behaviour.

“I always wanted to be a real princess.” She smiled slyly. “How about you show me your version of the royal treatment?”

“Octavia!” Bellamy growled. He shoved his sister behind him, much to everyone’s mutual amusement. It was times like these Lincoln was grateful to be an only child, even if he didn’t quite understand Bellamy’s reluctance to let Octavia near other males.

Raven heaved a big, weary lament from behind them. “Now that we’ve established the new grounder isn’t a threat.” Her eyes slid to him. “Or going to steal Clarke away, can we hit the hay?”

“Gosh, of course.” Clarke’s cheeks turned red again as she turned to survey the rag tag group, some of whom had already lost interest in the drama of their leaders and had settled themselves against the walls to sleep. “Let’s get everyone settled in.”

She left Lincoln’s side to start herding people towards the fire place that Harper and Murphy were diligently building back up again. 

Bellamy turned to him with an exasperated expression. “Can I trust him not to snuggle up with my sister while she’s unconscious?”

Lincoln watched Roan as he gulped down water from a container. His eyes were still focused in Clarke’s direction, though he seemed to at least be making an effort to look away. 

“I think you’re safe.” He muttered. “I, however, may still have a problem.”

Bellamy followed his gaze, then turned to Clarke who at that moment looked up from her fussing over a young girl with a bandaged wrist to blush prettily at Lincoln. “At least your problem is one sided.”

Bellamy clapped Lincoln on the back and strolled off. The problem really was one sided, it was true. He thought back to those first moments when he had seen another man with his arm around Clarke – sleeping next to her, sheltering her the way he always did. Murderous was a light term for how it made him feel now, but he had always considered himself a rational being, and he’d known, without a doubt, that Clarke would never do something like that to hurt him. Especially after the way space walker had hurt her in the past.

No. Clarke wasn’t the problem, but making it known that Clarke was his – only his - had suddenly become his highest priority.

 

Clarke

 

This time when Clarke awoke, the earth and spice scent she would forever associate with Lincoln surrounded her like a cosy bubble. She relaxed the muscles that had instinctively tensed upon remembering the confusion of the preceding night, and snuggled her nose nearer, sinking into the fabric of his shirt. The solid arms around her tightened, and the feeling of contentment that was always so near to the surface when her man was close washed over her. He was back. She had hated being apart from him, even for one day.

“You’re awake.” Bellamy broke the moment. His voice still hoarse with sleep. but she could tell his brain was already engaged with the day’s coming tasks. “Good.”

“Give a girl a minute to powder her nose.” Clarke grumbled.

She tilted her chin up at Lincoln and readily accepted the hot kiss he planted on her. It was lazy, and slow, and had all her nerve endings perking up like they’d received a shot of pure energy. Who needed coffee when they could get a fix of this anytime they wanted? Who needed drugs, for that matter, when a shot of sexy, morning Lincoln could diminish any cravings your body thought it had. Like hunger, she rued with an internal laugh, when her stomach chose that moment to let off a growl to rival thunder.

Clarke and Lincoln rose together and approached Bellamy side by side. He and a few others were sitting cross-legged around the fire, quietly consuming berries and strips of dried meat the others must have managed to stash from the camp before their abrupt departure. Standard Earth rations, she had come to think of them. Bellamy handed some of the bounty across to her, and Clarke took her share before giving Lincoln the larger portion. He frowned at what she’d kept for herself before pouring some of his berries back into her palm. She rolled her eyes fondly at his protective behaviour, but dove into her breakfast without another word.

“Hey.” Raven called out from the other side of Bellamy, sounding far too energised for Clarke’s still languid brain. “I was thinking of checking out the radio shack today – see if I can get things up and running and bypass whatever was blocking our signal before.”

“That’s a great idea.” Clarke nodded. “Will you be able to find it on your own though?”

“Roan offered to take me.” Raven glanced furtively at Lincoln, making Clarke bite her lip in a sudden bout of anxiety, but when he gave no reaction she shrugged and continued. “He seems to know the area pretty well.” 

“Take someone else with you too.” Bellamy grunted without further argument.

“I would say Monty so you had the tech help.” Clarke frowned. “But I need him to work on a plan to cultivate crops – I think we can use the open land surrounding this place to our advantage, but to be safe I’d like us to work out an internal hydro-farming system too.”

“I’ll send Miller.” Bellamy cracked his knuckles, looking more alert. “I wanted to send scouts to check out the rest of the town anyway, and they can report back to him at the radio shack rather than trekking back here every time they’ve cleared an area.”

“It’s sorted then.” Clarke hummed in happiness. She turned to nudge her companion. “I thought you might like to lead a hunting party, to get a feel for the local wildlife opportunities. And maybe fishing – I’m sure Jasper would be happy to help.”

Lincoln smiled down at her. “I’d be honoured.”

“I’m personally going to see about erecting a wall.” Bellamy admitted in a more discreet voice “I know we’re safer here than we were at the drop ship, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

“That’s a sensible idea.” Clarke nodded and took a deep, relaxed breath. “I think I’m going to work on setting up an infirmary – after I’ve found volunteers to set up the upstairs rooms for habitation and organisation of the storage rooms. I have a really good feeling about this place – like everything is going to come together for us this time.”

“Now that everything is planned to a nauseatingly flawless degree.” Bellamy remarked caustically. “There’s only one problem, Princess.”

“Yes?” Clarke raised her eyebrows.

“We’re pretty sure we heard a dropship crash in the woods yesterday evening.” Raven supplied helpfully. “Well, something crashed, and it definitely came from space.”

“Oh. Well, that changes things.” Clarke murmured. Dread filled her stomach like bile. Her mind spinning on the possibilities of what this could mean for them. “Do you think there were any survivors?”

“Only one way to find out.” Miller said as he approached them and sat beside Raven. “Someone needs to go and search.”

Clarke felt conflicted. On the one hand, they’d fought hard for the right to set up their new home in peace, and now the danger was relatively far removed, it seemed like a good idea to pull everything together and get their society up and running before some other misfortune interrupted their progress. But that calamity might be here now. If there were survivors, they might be injured, they’d need help, her help – it could even be her mom, or the families of the other delinquents. Someone needed to check to be sure and she didn’t think she could forgive herself if she delayed going there too long – if something happened and she could have been there to help. That felt a little dangerously close to developing a hero complex, but she could usually count on Bellamy to keep her ego in line.

“I should be able to make enough headway on the infirmary in the next few hours, enough to leave everything in the capable hands of Harper…maybe even Murphy. He’s eager to prove himself.” Clarke mused. “And it shouldn’t be too difficult to find helpers for everything else I had in mind.”

“Then I will leave the fishing to Jasper. He showed some promise.” Lincoln stood up, ran a hand over the back of her hair and bent forward to kiss her forehead. “I will prepare to hunt, and be back within two hours, ready to leave with you.”

Clarke watched him walk away, secretly amused that he didn’t argue with her and demand she stay behind like he had before. Her wound wasn’t even twinging now, it was a bearable ache, but she had taken it easy physically the day prior when she’d been surveying the house and clearing space. She wondered if his sudden desire to get away had anything to do with Roan, but Lincoln seemed surprisingly mature about the whole situation. She didn’t know what she would have done if she’d come across Lincoln sleeping and a woman who wasn’t her curled around him. Something that involved lots of hair pulling and biting no doubt. She would have to find a way to make it up to him, though there wasn’t much she could have done to prevent it besides being firmer with Roan as they’d interacted yesterday. But, honestly, who expected to wake up and find someone had made such a bold move?

“Do you need more bodies?” Bellamy interrupted her musings. “Or will the two of you be enough?”

Clarke looked over at Octavia as she entered the hall with Artigas fresh on her tail. Savage ran between them, clearly in his element surrounded by so many people willing to play with him. “O will be up for the adventure, and her little lamb needs to be sent home before anyone starts thinking we’re kidnapping young warriors. The four of us would be ideal.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes to the heavens. “When you finally manage to get him back to his people, do you think you could make sure my sister doesn’t stay behind too?”

“Because I live to please.” Clarke nodded sarcastically. “But you’re on puppy duty.”

 

Raven

 

If she squinted her eyes just right, Raven could pretend she was alone in the radio shack – nothing but her and the crumbling walls with their faded poster shards advertising music from an era gone by too soon, colourful trails of wires swamping the concrete floor, and some pretty original graffiti around what used to be an observation window into the action of the DJ booths. Strands of light seeped in with the twisting, trailing plants from cracks in the ceiling of the one-story abode, and the hallway was practically an open viaduct with the shells of once-useful rooms on either side, but she kind of liked it for all that. It used to be a small-town radio station, and Raven liked to imagine what it might have been like when it buzzed with activity – the lolly pop twirling girl who might have broadcast a weekend teen segment on fashion choices or the grungy haired guy in his mid-twenties who still lived in his mother’s basement and only accepted requests for ear-numbing metal bands.

But then one of the two men stood eyeing each other from opposite sides of the broken doorway, where she’d recently banished them, would open their mouths and make a comment designed not just to be antagonistic, but provocative. And the spell would break. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Miller was feeling threatened by the new grounder. But that was ridiculous – what did he have to feel threatened over? Except that Roan was handsome, and brave, and cunning, if that display over Clarke was anything to go by, yet also, apparently, a prince. Who ever said royalty was dead in America? 

Okay, maybe she did recognise this fresh need Miller had to puff up his chest and behave like a jacked up, testosterone driven ape of a man. It was just getting on her last nerve. He was reminding her of Bellamy, when really, he should take a leaf out of Lincoln’s book and try the calm and assured approach. Much manlier. Like when he’d discovered Roan making his play for Clarke and instead of throwing an epic fit, he’d acted as cool as a cucumber.

Raven eyed the pair of them. “If you two don’t have anything nice to say, do the world a favour, and don’t say anything at all.”

“I have plenty of nice things to say.” Miller pulled his beany hat lower over his ears. “I just reserve all those niceties for you.”

“Nice one.” Raven rolled her eyes. After everything they’d been through together in the past few days, she didn’t mind Miller’s behaviour half as much as she used to, but she enjoyed keeping him on his toes. “But I’m on to you, Mr Wise Guy.”

Miller smirked. “On to me, or on me? ‘Cause I know which one I’d prefer.”

To their mutual surprise, Roan broke the weighted silence by laughing. It came from deep within his belly, and it was clear he found the two of them too amusing to maintain his distance. Catching Raven’s eye as she watched him, he shrugged. “I haven’t been around people in a long time and you’re funny together.”

His admission broke the ice, and to her eternal gratitude, Miller didn’t follow up with a witty remark that would spark off more arguments or silent, brooding staring matches that felt like needles in the air. Raven bent her head over the work bench and smiled with satisfaction when she heard the faint buzz and whomph sound from the speakers on the floor. An upbeat pop-rock song pounded through the room, and Raven could hear it echoed from one of the other rooms whose wires hadn’t been chewed out by vermin and were miraculously still connected to the main sound system.

“I thought you were meant to be fixing the radio.” Miller shouted.

“I am.” Raven grinned. “But music increases productivity. Can you believe they used to have time to do scientific studies on that sort of shit?”

As she turned back to the outgoing transmissions board, Miller slid his back down the wall and slumped to the floor, resting his elbows on his knees, and Roan quickly followed. It can’t have been all that fun standing watch for the past four hours as Raven first crawled about on the floors, resealing the wires and establishing which connections were operational, before she checked the functional systems and satellites. The scouting party had come and gone three times, each time carrying useful items they’d managed to scavenge from wreckages of other structures. It was no wonder they’d begun taking cheap shots at each other.

After another half hour of tinkering she thought she finally had it. She glanced behind her to see both men had their eyes closed and their heads lolling to the side. She abruptly cut the music off, jolting them both into awareness, and held her breath in anticipation.

The buzz of static filled the room. “Calling Ark Station.” Raven leaned into the old fashioned mic. “This is Raven Reyes hailing you from the ground. I repeat, this is Raven Reyes from Mecha station hailing you from the ground.”

Nothing but the sound of radio waves fizzing through the air. But she knew the connection was properly established – she’d checked and rechecked her work - she was transmitting on the correct frequency, and the interference that had existed before was out of range and no longer sending its strange noise through the receiver.

“Calling Ark Station.” Raven raised her voice. “This is Raven Reyes transmitting on frequency 69871 kHz – I’m hailing you from the ground. The 100 made it to Earth – we’re alive down here. Can anyone hear me?”

Miller stood and placed a hand on her shoulder, the same way he’d supported her through the crisis at the drop ship when they’d been left in charge. She looked up at him with the beginnings of dejection in her eyes. Had she really worked this hard, for this long, only to fail again?

“Try it again.” He nudged her towards the mic.

“Calling Ark Station.” Raven cleared her throat. “This is Raven…”

“Raven!” A scratchy, familiar voice stuttered through the speakers.

“Abby!” Raven could have cried. “Abby, it’s me!”

There was a haze of noise, then Abby’s voice questioning, “Clarke?” The desperation behind it was clear all the way across space.

“Clarke’s alive, Abby.” Raven grinned. “She’s totally fine.”

“Thank god.” Abby breathed. “The radiation? It’s survivable?”

“Yes – it’s survivable – no radiation to speak of. And there are other survivors, people who have been living on the ground all this time.”

“Other survivors?” Abby sounded as astonished as they’d felt upon the discovery they were not alone. “…That’s incredible.”

“You could say that.” Raven felt relief and happiness bubble up inside her. “Did you send another drop ship down? Clarke’s on her way to check for survivors.”

There was a bout of silence on the other end, static jumping across the waves, and Raven got a chilly feeling down her spine. “No, Raven!” The clarity of Abby’s voice phased in an out. “…seized control…drop ship….”

“Abby!” Raven rasped. “You’re breaking up.”

“…Ark dying…all systems failing…don’t trust them...”

“Abby?” Raven called. “Abby? Can you hear me?”

The connection was dead. Roan’s solemn face seemed to mirror her thoughts, and Miller still hadn’t taken his hand from her shoulder, but his grip had tightened. She tried to reassure herself that at least they’d managed to get through to the Ark – at least she’d managed to assure Abby that the ground was survivable and her daughter was alive. But for how long? If Clarke was on her way to effectively rescue a den of vipers, she needed to be alerted.

“We’ve got to warn Bellamy.” Raven stood up, grabbing her pack and stuffing it with supplies from the scouts. “Now.”

 

Clarke

 

Travelling with two grounders at the paddles made traversing the river upstream much less of the challenge she knew it would have been, had her and Octavia been the ones navigating it’s cold, wild depths. They sailed past the spot along the river from where they’d gained their supply of kayaks, and instead continued further and beached them a little down river from where the campers used to collect their water supply. She recognised the sweep of a willow tree in the distance, and the strange stepping stones leading to an inlet they could hide behind when bathing, to prevent the current picking them up and foisting them down river.

Clarke took Lincoln’s proffered hand once he’d deftly camouflaged their boats in the surrounding flora. “Have I told you lately that you’re impressive?”

His shoulders straightened. “A man always likes to hear his woman’s appreciation for his skills.”

Clarke laughed. “You’re such a cave man.”

“But you love it.” He teased.

She sent him a delighted smile. If he was teasing her, then maybe everything was more than okay between them. “I do.” She squeezed his hand. “I do love it.”

Lincoln yanked her closer, folding her arm behind his back so they stayed connected as he kissed her soundly.

“Come on love birds.” Octavia whisper yelled. “No time for nookie. We got people to find.”

“Are they always like that?” Artigas asked as they disappeared into the brush.

Clarke turned to Lincoln and gave him a disgruntled look. “Why is everyone always asking that?”

Lincoln chuckled and pulled her along, his fingers tangled with hers giving her a sense of peace. As it turned out, they didn’t have to reach the crash site to find evidence of their people. As soon as they neared their drop ship and heard the tell-tale signs of life – the clanking of metal and the chatter of voices – Clarke halted them. The familiar peat and pine smell of camp made her eyes water. It would always be their first home on Earth, even if it was literally a crash site. They exchanged concerned but hopeful looks, but she knew that if Earth had taught them one thing, it was that rushing into an unknown situation wasn’t wise. It could be the teens who had defected with Dax out of fear, or it could be the grounders reclaiming territory that was once theirs alone. Either way, they needed to do a little reconnoitring first.

Lincoln skirted them away from the camp and helped her and Octavia to climb a large pine tree, it’s years on earth countless and its branches sturdy enough to take the weight of four bodies. From his pocket, he produced a type of portable telescope – its burnished edges barely keeping the brittle, cylindrical wood together.

“You first.” He held it up to her eye helpfully. “Keep your other eye closed and focus.”

Clarke blinked at the sudden magnification of her vision, but quickly located the top of the drop ship as a landmark and worked her way down from there. She knew Raven had closed the drop ship to prevent grounder use, or potential sabotage, but the door was wide open. There was nobody coming to and fro, so she trailed the scope towards the fireplace and beyond it, towards the site of the smoke house. She gasped and all her good feelings about the day vanished. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“What is it?” Octavia hissed. “Have the grounders taken over?”

“No.” Clarke kept the eye piece glued to her face, searching through the crowds. “Much worse.”

“You’re killing me.” Octavia groaned.

“Here.” She carefully passed the scope to Octavia, perched on her adjacent branch. Artigas steadied her as she put it to her eye, and Clarke watched as the younger girl searched out the camp’s heart. When Octavia’s mouth dropped open, she knew she’d found it.

Clarke knew what Octavia was seeing in that moment – exactly what they’d hope to leave behind. Nearly a hundred men outfitted in the guard’s uniform from the Ark, amassed with guns at the ready and unforgiving expressions, centred around one woman who Clarke had instantly recognised. Someone who shouldn’t have inspired this level of a following unless she’d done something shady. Like stolen a drop ship, maybe? There was no way the chancellor would have agreed to send a drop ship down solely comprised of guards – as far as they knew up there, there was no force to tackle.

“Who’s that woman?” Octavia passed the telescope over to Lincoln.

She remembered then that Octavia wouldn’t be familiar with the big movers and shakers of the Ark because of her odd childhood. “The former chancellor – Diana.”

“Good news or bad news?”

“Bad. Very bad – master manipulator, undoubtedly a drop ship thief, and apparently, current prison warden.” Clarke bit her thumb nail, trying to decide what to do.

Octavia frowned. “Prison warden?”

“Did you look by the smoke house?”

Lincoln, who still had the telescope focused on the camp, swore under his breath. He passed it back over to Octavia, who she knew, by now, would have sighted the forty delinquents – former delinquents in a sense – handcuffed together with standard issue guard cuffs. Left out in the open – exposed and vulnerable – while Dax sat at the fire, looking for all the world like Diana’s new chum.

Clarke put her hand on Lincoln’s jaw and caressed it gently. “You know what I have to do.”

“No.” He said gruffly, forcefully.

“It can only be me.” Clarke said. “They need hope, and they need it now, and I’m the only one who might have a chance at talking her down – both my parents were on the council, after all.”

Lincoln gripped her jaw, pulling her closer. He leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “I know what I must do as well.”

A tear trailed down Clarke’s cheek before she could stop it. They were always coming and going, together and apart and together again. “I meant it earlier.”

Lincoln opened his eyes and looked directly into hers. He smouldered, like a fire that could never be put out no matter how many times you tried to drown it or suffocate it.

“I love you.” She told him. “I really do.”

Lincoln growled into her mouth. “Love isn’t a strong enough word for what I feel for you.”

A/N: Show me some love, people ;-)


	15. All Kinds of Crazy

A/N: Muchas gracias for the inspiring reviews/messages and continued support – you all rock!! Let me know what you think – things are getting more and more dire for our beloved characters – who will make it out alive?! 

Disclaimer: All things The 100 related belong to Kass Morgan and the writers of the amazing TV show – the rest is mine!

Chapter Fifteen

Lincoln 

 

Returning to their new home without Clarke was the hardest thing Lincoln had ever done, but he knew it was just the start of the tough decisions and resulting fallouts that were to come. He was at war within himself – even more so than when his heart first started to leap at the sight of a blonde woman from the sky, while his head told him to watch and wait and attack without mercy before his people were endangered. Now he had a new people, and the war wasn’t between his heart and mind, but engineered from his complex new feelings. So much newness was enough to drive a man wild.

The rational, understanding part of his love knew that Clarke had the best shot at infiltrating what had become the enemy camp without getting hurt, and together the two of them stood a chance at finding a relatively peaceful solution, if ever there was one to be had. The protective, possessive part of him that always came to life around his new-found lover was screaming at him to go back and drag her away - by her hair if he had to. It was only the knowledge that she would never forgive him that gave him the strength to keep walking away, to put one foot forward and follow it up with another step. No looking back – no doubts.

The entire trip back, Octavia had seethed, more upset than angry, he knew, that her arguments against Clarke being the plant had gone unheard. Artigas had seemed to understand his unspoken need for silence, and instead of deserting them at this hurdle, he was a quiet, sturdy and familiar companion as they first jogged through the forest, then navigated the moonlit river back to Front Royal. The bright lights of various torches set around the old school-house could be seen from the banks when they ran the canoes aground, casting the woods in an eerie glow, whilst alerting all and sundry to their presence. He made a mental note that is was something they would have to change in the future when there weren’t more pressing concerns.

The alarm went up as soon as they appeared on the edges of the over-grown lawn and made their way through the ruins of the broken pillars – at least their guard watch was fully operational. Lincoln absent-mindedly noticed that various small plots of land had been dug up and turned over in preparation for seeds, and the fledglings of a wall was begun in the pillars standing upright at equal distances. Clarke would be proud, if she was here. His chest gave an uncomfortable pang.

Bellamy came rushing through the recently reinforced front door and hurtled down the steps as they approached. He went straight to embrace his sister, but his eyes were on Lincoln, dark and serious as he noticed the absence of his co-leader. “Where’s Clarke?”

“Busy. We didn’t find the crash site, but we did find survivors.” Lincoln bent down to pick up Savage, who was snuffling and yipping in welcome around his feet. He seemed to be looking for Clarke, and settled his sad puppy eyes on Lincoln in accusation when he didn’t magically produce his new mom. Lincoln looked back up at Bellamy, and he must have had his heart in his eyes because the other man winced. “They’ve taken over your drop ship – nothing but armed guards came down, led by a woman Clarke identified as your previous chancellor.”

“We were afraid it was something like that.” Bellamy cursed and set Octavia back. “Sydney, yeah, I remember her.”

Lincoln growled under his breath. “You knew there was something wrong with this mission and you didn’t say anything?”

“Slow your horses, big guy.” Bellamy put his hands on his hips. “Raven managed to get the radio working and got through to the ark – it was patchy as shit, but before comms went down again they gave a warning about a mutiny. Ever since then I’ve debated sending someone after you, but I figured it would just put more of our people in unnecessary danger. I was getting ready to head out myself when the alarm sounded.”

Lincoln lifted his chin reluctantly. “Don’t unpack just yet, we need to head back out tonight. We have a treaty to barter and Clarke is counting on us not to waste time.”

Bellamy froze. “None of this explains Clarke’s absence.”

“I haven’t told you the worst of it.” Lincoln eyed him gravely. “Dax is cooperating with the soldiers, but they’ve taken the rest of your people prisoner.”

“That weasel.” Bellamy sighed. “Clarke went in to let them know we were going to save them, didn’t she?” 

“Did you expect any different?” Octavia eyed her brother in frustration. “We all know Clarke has as big of a hero complex as you.” 

“No.” Bellamy ran a hand through his hair. “How many soldiers are we talking about?”

“Roughly a hundred.” Lincoln delivered the bad news without pause. “All organised, heavily armed and certainly trained.”

“Too many for us to handle alone.” Bellamy nodded acceptance. “How are we going to do this though? Last I remembered, your people consider you a traitor and us interlopers – why would they agree to treaty now?”

“Because as much of a threat as they consider you, these soldiers pose an even greater one. They are older, greedier, undoubtedly jaded from a lifetime without land of their own, and less likely to cooperate and see the drop ship as Trikru land. If you offer fealty, ask to become the thirteenth clan, I could be a representative of the two rather than a traitor of one.” Lincoln frowned. “I won’t lie – negotiations are never as easy in reality and they may well want to kill me on sight.”

“I don’t think we have another choice. “Bellamy sighed. “We’ll go into this together and hopefully come out the other end in one piece.”

Lincoln met his eyes grimly. “Clarke and your people are the priority – getting Heda to agree to a treaty is paramount. If something happens to me, you are not to interfere.”

Bellamy began to argue, but Artigas spoke up and Lincoln was reminded of his presence. A reminder that there was someone else with him who might help soften his approach. “It would be a weakness if he was not punished for his crimes against the clan. Disrespectful if you impede on his behalf.”

“He speaks true.” Lincoln put Savage down on the floor, instantly missing his small, warm body against his aching chest.

Bellamy led them inside for supplies. “I’m not going to pretend to understand these customs of yours. I’m not Clarke, my levels of benevolence are relatively low. But you’re the experts and I’ll follow your lead for the time being.”

“Make sure that you do.” Lincoln warned. He was prepared for whatever punishment came his way – he was still a member of Trikru by birth, and by heart, and he respected their ways, even if he didn’t always agree. For Clarke, he would take any hurt so long as she was okay.

 

Clarke

Clarke sat drumming her fingers against the corrugated metal floor with her back resting against the cool wall. She was locked in the uppermost section of the drop ship, out of sight and hearing from the rest of the delinquents. It was a deliberate move to isolate her until she’d been questioned – a smart move. Diana wasn’t taking any chances, and she wasn’t as naive or uninformed as Clarke had first judged. Dax had obviously given her his version of the lay of the land, the fight with the grounders and the eventual desertion of camp, and Diana was naturally suspicious to find Clarke on her doorstep, alone and unarmed. But exactly how much had Dax shared? Judging by his self-serving behaviour he seemed like the kind of person who liked to keep a few cards held close to his chest, so there was a chance – a slim chance – he hadn’t told Diana everything. Which meant Clarke still had something to work with.

She had deliberately feigned a head injury and wandered into the camp confused – the guards had been quick to turn their guns on her, and Diana had been even quicker to get them to stand down upon recognising Clarke, hastening to usher her out of sight. But in one regard, the damage had already been done and the first step of her plan was in motion. One of the older girls from camp, Rosa, a pretty but spacey girl who had followed Bellamy around in the early days had caught a glimpse of her before she was ushered away, and a glimpse was all it took. Soon the rest of them would know that Clarke was alive and among them, and the smartest of the bunch would know she was planning a way out. They’d begin preparing themselves, at least mentally, for the possibility of escape.

Clarke looked up as the circular hatch on the other side of the room was pushed opened with a groan. A middle-aged guard appeared, sporting his raised gun and a severe expression to make sure the room was clear before allowing Diana entry. The older woman pulled herself through the hatch after the guard and wiped her hands on her thighs – her gaze examining Clarke like a specimen under a microscope. She had a placid expression, and she always spoke with a calm, motherly voice, but her eyes were duplicitous – full of secrets and self-interest. Diana had never gotten along with her mother – it was like that age-old adage of a kitchen only being big enough for one woman. They were two hens in the hen house that did not appreciate the division of attention. But Diana had liked and respected Clarke’s father – everyone had liked and respected Jake Griffin. Hopefully those opposing views on each of her parents gave her a neutral attitude towards Clarke.

“It’s been a while, Miss Griffin.” Diana smiled and slowly approached Clarke. “You’re looking well, considering.”

Clarke’s returning smile was loaded with bitter irony. “You mean, considering Jaha sent us to Earth to die like the dispensable front-line fodder of the old-world wars?”

“Yes.” Diana appeared to be contemplating Clarke’s attitude. “It wasn’t right, what Thelonious chose to do in secret, without the people’s consent. And your mother…”

Clarke stiffened. “Let’s not bring my mother into this.”

Diana appeared peeked. “But your mother was central to the success of this mission. Those wrist bands could have saved them all, quite ingenious really, if it wasn’t for Bellamy Blake and John Murphy’s interference.”

Clarke stiffened. “Bellamy and Murphy?”

“Oh yes.” Diana’s voice was smooth as butter, but underneath there was an underlying tension – an almost imperceptible excitement. “I know all about our young Mr Blake and his bid for leadership. I had heard you and he were a team?”

The implied question lingered in the air and Clarke chose not to answer it. “If you thought Jaha was wrong to send us down here, then why are you imprisoning the remaining delinquents?”

Diana gave her a patronising look. “Because they’re still delinquents, Clarke. Until I can assess the danger each of them poses I thought it best to take precautionary measures.”

“Am I to be a prisoner too?” She cocked her head to the side, as though curious, even though she already knew the answer.

“I think that’s for the best.” Diana ran a hand through her hair and turned towards the hatch. “I’ve heard some very interesting things about you, and while I believe your animosity towards Jaha and Abby isn’t feigned, I’m not quite ready to trust you.”

Clarke smiled at her. “I didn’t think you would.”

“And yet you still waltzed into my camp.” Diana mused.

The silence stretched between them for a moment, before Diana turned towards the guard. Her tone was imperious beneath the saccharine. “Take her to the others, but I want her watched.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The guard approached Clarke and roughly hefted her up by her bent elbow. She rolled her eyes at his unnecessary show of strength.

Diana started her descent down the ladder, but paused when only her head was still visible. “I’m not an enemy to be underestimated, Miss Griffin. Smarter people have died for crossing me.”

Clarke stopped her before she could disappear. “What did you mean when you said the people on the Ark could have been saved?”

“Jaha wanted to tell more of his pretty lies, but I outmanoeuvred him. There was only one drop ship left and I made sure I was on it.” She smiled serenely. “Looks like you don’t have to worry about confronting your mother after all.”

Clarke felt chills sweep down her back. Could Diana be telling the truth? No one knew how many drop ships were left on the Ark, not even Wells had known as she remembered they’d once debated the issue in depth, musing over the generations years ahead of them that would get to go to Earth on the scheduled return. She didn’t have time to examine her feelings – the welling of worry, grief and regret festering under the surface – she really didn’t. But still, she offered up a silent prayer that her mum was alright, and that Diana had been lying to provoke a reaction. 

Darkness had descended in her time in the drop ship and the night air held a bite that caused her to shiver and draw her jacket closer. She looked up as the guard led her past his comrades, who eyed her with blatant suspicion and distrust, to a section on the perimeter of camp that was partially hidden by the hulking side of the drop ship. The remaining delinquents were organised in two adjacent rows, shackles glinting in the firelight as they worked on with tired grimaces. 

“Hands.” The guard motioned for her to place her wrists into the thick shackles every guard had used to subdue prisoners on the ark. The last time Clarke had felt the bite of cold metal on her wrist had been when the wristband had been forced on her, the needles pinching her skin as her mum held her close for the last time. The guard stepped back once she’d been sufficiently handcuffed and pushed her not-so-gently towards a gap in the chain gang. Clarke stumbled into place before straightening her shoulders and giving the guard a glare. She turned to the boy closest and winked.

“Clarke.” Her name was hissed under the breath of the teens closest to her, passed back like the most honest game of Chinese whispers until the people at the end of the line were glancing over the heads of others to get a look at her. The despair that had gripped them slowly dissipated, and a sense of hope hung around them.

Clarke glanced down at the ration packs they were being forced to prepare and smiled. “I have a plan.” She whispered to the two guys on either side of her. “Remember the jobi nuts?”

Her words were met with both determined grins, and several delighted giggles resounded as the message was passed along. They were going to beat the guards at their own game.

 

Lincoln

Walking into his village as a traitor was tantamount to a bunny rabbit hopping into the den of a fox – not past it, but deep down into the dark and dank layer with fluffy white tail waggling. The deep blackness of night had settled over the village, small trails of smoke trickled through gaps in the tin rooves, but the gentle sounds of people preparing dinner and happily chattering among themselves had died out upon their appearance. 

Four warriors marched on either side of their small group, having met them before they could breach the borders of the village, and as they passed by, the occupants of the huts swung open their doors as if receiving some silent signal to watch the procession with curiosity…and more than a little hostility. It was only out of a lingering respect for Lincoln that they were being granted an audience with the leader of Trikru – anyone else and they’d have been killed on sight. It shouldn’t have comforted him that there was no kill order, because it left his fate uncertain, but Lincoln couldn’t help feeling relieved.

He passed an aging woman, one he had hunted for on multiple occasions, and she spat at his feet, hissing ‘splita.’ Lincoln paused, his heart a throbbing organ in his chest, before he raised his chin and moved his eyes forward to focus on Anya. She stood ahead of him, at the mouth of the Heda’s hut, warriors flanking her sides with aggressive grimaces marring their usually affable faces. These were warriors Lincoln had fought with, trained with – blooded warriors who were once his extended family. But no more. He had chosen love and a different family over the one of old. They would not forget, and it would be a long time before they considered forgiving. They were not a forgiving people. 

He stopped several feet away, feeling Bellamy and Octavia pause just behind him, fanning out to his side in a pledge of support. They had kept their party small by consensus, but Raven, Miller, Roan and several others waited in the forest – far enough away to avoid detection, but close enough to report back to camp if they didn’t return by morning light.

“Why have you come?” Anya’s dark, charcoaled eyes were fierce on him. She swept her gaze over his companions and he saw her mouth tighten, but she had spoken gonasleng, so she must have wanted their participation – or at least for them to understand what was happening, good or bad.

“We’re here to treaty.” He said with a respectful nod.

“You treaty for these people?” Anya sneered. Her high cheekbones gave her an eagle-like intensity that had made many people quail before her. “Not so long ago you were sent to kill them. Now you take their side against your own?”

Lincoln sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand. In truth, I do not understand it myself. But I have given myself over to their leader, a good and kind soul, and it is for her I treaty. It is for her I accept the brand of splita, though I have done, and will do nothing to harm Trikru.”

Anya looked to Octavia. “You, girl, he treaties on your behalf? Do you not have a mouth of your own?”

Octavia laughed. “Oh, I have a mouth, and I assure you, it works just fine – care to test it?”

Anya studied Octavia with shrewd eyes. There was a glint of something there when she turned to look at him, something like amusement. “This is not the leader of which you speak. Where is she then, this paragon of virtue for which you forsake your warrior vows?”

“She is prisoner of the ones who fell from the sky earlier today.” Lincoln paused to let it settle in. “They are guards – warriors of the sky people who betrayed their leaders and stole the ship. They will bring nothing but destruction upon us.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Lincoln saw Artigas appear with Nyko on the fringes of the gathering villagers. He had sent the young warrior away before they’d approached the village – it was bad enough he was branded a traitor, there was no need for the boy to have his life destroyed by association. Clearly, he didn’t heed Lincoln’s warnings to stay out of this.

“Why would we help them?” Anya said. “They are all the same, these Skaikru. Let them fight it out among themselves and we will kill off whoever remains.”

“We’ve got more bullets than you have people.” Bellamy crossed his arms over his chest and gave Anya a decidedly unimpressed look. “You can’t pretend you wouldn’t sustain heavy losses that could be avoided if we just worked together.”

“I don’t remember giving you leave to talk to me.” Several warriors bristled at his tone and Anya quirked a brow.

“Nobody gives me leave to do anything.” Bellamy scorned.

Octavia cleared her throat and reached around Lincoln to pinch Bellamy in the gut. “What my brother means, is that you have no reason to fear us – we were all juvenile prisoners on the Ark, sent down here against our will. None of us means you any harm, and we’ve done our best to reassure you of that – didn’t we just leave your territory?”

“You did.” Anya nodded.

“And that was after you played pin the tail on the donkey with our asses and those spears of yours.” Bellamy grumbled.

Octavia rolled her eyes. “But these newcomers? They’re not going to be so forgiving and you won’t survive them without our help. They won’t share their technology, their medicine, their weapons – but we will.”

“Clarke, their leader I spoke of, she was training to be a doctor.” Lincoln said. “She would help you – there are things she knows, things they all know, that would be beneficial to your clan.”

“You have given me much to think about.” Anya met the eyes of Borga, one of her chief warriors. “But for now, I think it’s best you enjoy our hospitality while I do just that.”

Lincoln made a move to cover Octavia at the same time as Bellamy, but it was pointless. Warriors grabbed a hold of them and hauled them across the centre of camp to the prison Lincoln knew awaited them. The wooden, barred door was swung open and they were pushed through the yawning, earth-packed hole into the cold, pitch-black of nothing. Lincoln hit the muddy floor and immediately went into a roll. Bellamy cursed from somewhere to his right, and Octavia let off a feminine grunt when she landed nearby. He stretched his neck to look up at the entrance. Anya stood, her silhouette outlined by the vibrant moon and her face in shadows.

“I’m not unreasonable.” She said. “But I’m not a fool either.”

With that she walked away and the bars were swung into place and locked from the outside. Through the thin gaps, Lincoln could see two guards stationed to watch over them.

“Are we going to die?” Octavia asked in a small voice. He made out the blurry shape of Bellamy crawling over to her and putting his arm around her shoulders in comfort.

“No.” Lincoln assured her. He leant back against the sodden wall and sighed deeply. “She will listen to reason. Anya is a good leader, but this is a punishment she must see through – there can be no immediate forgiveness of traitors.”

 

Clarke 

The red light of dawn smeared across the tips of the trees in the surrounding forest and every breath Clarke expelled sent a small puff of steam into the air around her. Winter was nearly upon them, and if that wasn’t a sign that they had no time to waste, she didn’t know what was. They were ready. They’d been worked to exhaustion last night stockpiling rations, collecting firewood and water – something Clarke could understand being a priority for Diana, who knew nothing of Earth’s bounty and needed to keep her soldiers happy with the promise of plentiful nourishment and warmth while she devised her next strategy. Then they’d been forced to sleep outside in the elements with only one blanket between three people. Her fingers felt like they belonged to someone far older than her eighteen years, but she clenched them repeatedly to increase circulation and had been directing the others to do much the same all night. 

As much as Diana had kept her laser focus on her prisoners, observing their interactions and waiting for one of them to deviate from their set tasks, to attempt an escape, she hadn’t seen the deception that was taking place right under her nose. It had been all too easy to gather the nuts the seasoned campers had learned to avoid – slipping a generous portion into each pouch was child’s play.

“You, you and you.” A gruff guard approached their huddle as they clustered together for warmth and gestured towards those nearest. “You’re on breakfast duty – hustle.”

With equal parts nervousness and anticipation, Clarke, Rosa and another girl gathered up the ration bundles they’d prepared the night before and started distributing them to Diana’s guards. She wove in and out of their drowsy clusters, handing out generous ration bundles filled with berries and nuts with a polite, insincere smile. She passed by several other teens as they handed out fresh water provisions and prepared more wood for the fire – they shared secretive glances when they knew no one was looking, and each moment spent waiting for the men to consume the jobi nuts was like currents of electricity running over her exposed skin. It was nearly time, just a little bit longer.

She walked slowly, giving people a chance to wake up and fill their bellies. They needed to maximise the exposure of the hallucinogenic for this to work the way they needed and she imagined it a bit like a Mexican wave – the drugs slowly sweeping over the camp behind her, one person at a time. When Clarke got to the end of the grouped guards, she came across Dax. She was unsurprised by his scorn as he made blatant overtures of stretching his free hands above his head and eyeing her new cuffs. “Bet you wish you’d backed another horse now.”

“Like you, you mean?” Clarke dropped his rations into his lap, deliberately clumsy, and smiled when they fell to the dirt between his feet. “You might have won your race, but it’s a relay we’re playing and a single person can’t win a relay. You’re all alone.”

Dax swept his eyes over the camp. “Does it look like I’m alone? I have my own army and you’re what…a prisoner now? Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“Diana has her own army.” Clarke said. “For now. How long do you think that will last when the grounders start attacking en-masse? What do you think she’ll do when she realises what a coward you really are? You have an expiration date and you’re too stupid to even realise it.”

Dax stood up and took a threatening step towards her. “If anyone needs to be worried about an expiration date, it’s you.”

“Please.” Clarke laughed. “You don’t scare me.”

“That’s your problem…” Dax looked over Clarke’s shoulder with a strange expression. 

Clarke kept her back to the knots of guards who would be starting to feel the effects of their breakfast, and gave Dax an impassive look. It was happening – she could feel the thrum of rebellion in the air. So, so close. “What’s wrong, Dax? Cat got your tongue?”

She watched as his eyes widened comically and he started propelling himself backwards, tripping over his sleeping gear. Okay – that was a bit of an over-reaction to a bunch of drug-happy guards wandering the camp. She started to turn, when out of nowhere a metal canister rolled into Clarke’s boots with a clank and started emitting a faint hissing noise – brackish smoke spilled into the air and Clarke began to choke. She covered her mouth and squinted through watering eyes at all the slumped bodies behind her. This wasn’t the plan – this definitely wasn’t the plan. Her last thoughts before blackness stole her senses, was that Lincoln was going to be really upset when he found out she’d managed to endanger herself yet again.

 

Lincoln

It wasn’t the first time Lincoln had awoken to screams, but it was still jarring all the same. He shook the snares of sleep from his mind and body, and stood to alertness. Dawn was well on her way to passing into the fleshier part of the morning, and he could see wisps of material as bodies rushed past in a frenzy.

“What’s happening?” Bellamy cleared his throat and got to his feet. Octavia crouched behind them, her eyes glued to the barred door imprisoning them beneath the earth.

Lincoln listened to the shouts of his people, and one word rose above them all. But that didn’t make sense at all – they never attacked the villages as a group. Never had this happened to them before – it just didn’t make sense.

“Let me out.” He yelled at the one guard remaining outside their jail. “You know you need the extra strength – we can fight.”

The guard seemed to waver in his resolve to keep them contained, but after glancing at Lincoln’s companions his rigidity was reinforced. “No. I will not betray the command of my Heda.”

Suddenly the warrior guarding them slumped to the ground and whilst the three of them backed away in a tense silence, quick hands unbarred the door and a thick skein of rope appeared over the edge.

A rumpled head appeared over the edge and an exasperated voice called out. “Well, what are you waiting for? Are we escaping or not?”

“Artigas!” Octavia cheered. She grabbed for the rope without hesitation and the three men helped push her out.

Bellamy quickly followed, and Lincoln went last. As he hauled himself out of the hole and took the weapon offered to him by Artigas, he frowned deeply at the destruction and panic around them. The peaceful village they had traipsed through was like a scene from a vivid nightmare. Rivers of blood and pained moans – the kind of sights you immediately wished you could cleanse from your mind - then there were the screams of those being dragged away by once familiar faces now warped by the mountain men and their secretive experiments. Reapers.

Animal like snarls came from the side of the hut closest to them, moving ever closer, and Lincoln moved into position in front of the others. “Artigas, get them out of here.”

“No.” Bellamy gripped his arm. “I’m fighting with you.” He turned to Artigas with a grimace. “Get my sister to safety, or so help me God, I’ll skin you alive.”


	16. Fragile Alliances

Bellamy

Bellamy came to his senses feeling as though he’d been beaten over the head with a baseball bat or two. Repeatedly. Blood tickled his cheek as it trailed anew from the corner of his mouth, and the wound there stung as he licked it away. He grimaced up at the smoggy sky as he strained to recall the big son of a bitch, dressed like a cave man with the attitude to match, who had been heading straight for him with his primitive weapon held high. That was before a sharp pain as something impacted with the base of his skull, and then nothing. What the hell had happened?

“There you are!” He jolted upright like a marionette with pulled strings, supressing his pained groan when his head throbbed murderously, and watched as Raven and Miller bounded towards him across the scene of the battle. Roan trailed behind them, his eyes assessing the damage wrought by the attack with what Bellamy now recognised as his usual solemnity.

He was surprised to see so much destruction himself. Fire had swept through the village whilst he had been unconscious and demolished most of the huts at the centre – a brutal but effective tactic. He looked away from the charred remains of bodies, his gut churning at the stench. The structures closest to the forest seemed to have escaped damage for the most part, and it was there the clan’s survivors were clustered, seeing to the injured with faces shocked and angry and bloody.

Raven knelt at his side and reached out a hand to his forehead. “Are you okay? What happened here?”

“I’m fine.” He knocked her hand aside gently and pulled himself to his feet, ignoring Miller’s censuring look and extended hand, even if he probably could have done with it. Both the help and the reminder to at least be civil. But Bellamy wasn’t in the mood to be civil. “We were ambushed.”

He leant against the nearest tree for the only kind of support he was willing to accept, and searched the closest huddles for his fellow captives. His eyes darted from one huddle to another, anxiety increasing in larger increments when he failed to recognise a single face. 

“Where’s Octavia?” At their shared looks of confusion, he raised his voice. “Where’s my sister?!”

As though he’d been queued by a director for maximum dramatic impact, Artigas chose that moment to stagger out of the forest, his hand clasped weakly against his bleeding side. He looked pale and liable to collapse at any given moment, but his eyes searched out and met Bellamy’s with resolve he might have respected on any other day.

Bellamy wasted no time in reaching his side. “Where is she?”

“Gone.” Artigas gasped softly. “I tried, but there were too many.”

“I told you to look after her!” His temper hit a boiling point between one breath and the next and he unconsciously reached out to shake the younger man.

“Come on, man.” Miller grabbed him and held him back. “This isn’t helping anyone.”

Bellamy didn’t struggle, knowing Artigas couldn’t take the brunt of his anger, injured as he was, yet also knowing his anger was just finding an outlet, any outlet that stopped him from blaming himself. He pulled himself out of Miller’s grasp and grabbed his own head in frustration. “Ever the voice of reason, huh, Nathan?!”

“Oh, grow up, Bellamy.” Raven eyed the audience they’d attracted from his heated display and he knew he needed to keep a lid on his feelings. But it was his sister. He was sworn to protect her from the unlikely age of seven, no way could he just accept that her safety was out of his hands.

“Fuck!!” He kicked out at the broken remains of a smoke house roof and delighted at the awful clanging sound it made. Inside he burned brighter than the remaining fire embers with the need to act, to reap revenge and rescue his sister.

“Has anyone seen Lincoln?” Roan’s calm felt a little like the stillness before a storm as he broke the weighted silence.

Bellamy looked around and sighed. Partly out of additional worry, but also out of relief. Maybe if Lincoln was gone too, then his sister wasn’t as alone as he feared. The defected Trikru warrior had proven himself a loyal and protective man, a decent man, and knowing he might be doing Bellamy’s job for him put things in a different perspective.

“He’s not among the dead.” Anya approached them with a contingent of wounded warriors, looking no less fierce for that fact. “They must have taken him too.”

“Who were ‘they’ for that matter, while we’re all feeling so talkative?” Bellamy kept the growl in his voice to a minimum.

“Reapers.” said Anya.

“Care to elaborate?” he forced himself to remain still, even as he ached to ring her mono-syllabic neck.

“Reapers are made by the mountain men. They steal our strongest warriors and turn them into their pet monsters.” Roan answered with cool reasoning infused in every word. “Azgeda did not suffer so much from this affliction, but Trikru does because of their proximity to the mountain.”

“And so, the rogue prince returns.” Having caught her attention, Anya circled Roan with a calculating eye. “There is a price upon your head, splita.”

“Do you feel that you can take me in, heda?” Roan’s tone was mocking enough to make every warrior bristle.

“I know someone who would be very interested in speaking with you.” Anya smiled tightly.

“Speaking?” Roan laughed, the sound vibrating in his throat as though he did it rarely. “Is that what Lexa calls it?”

“We don’t have time for this.” Bellamy placed himself between them. “How do we get our people back?”

Anya turned to face him and he thought he saw a flash of pity in her eyes before it was covered by grief and acceptance. “Nobody comes back from the mountain.”

“That’s not an acceptable answer to me.” Bellamy crossed his arms over his chest to show he meant business.

“Me neither.” Raven and Miller stood at either shoulder, echoing his sentiment. He was shakily proud of their loyalty in that moment and something inside of him clicked into place.

He stood tall and infused his words with strength. “We didn’t come down from space, survive hostile negotiations with the natives, a toxic land and all its challenges, like, say, ferocious wild dogs, not to mention a traitorous group of soldiers intent on imprisoning us, just to give up when some mountain tribe decides it wants some of our people.”

“The mountain men are more like you than us.” Roan said. 

“Good.” Bellamy said. “That means they’ll understand what we mean when we say we can and will obliterate them without a second thought if they don’t give us back our people.”

Roan smiled faintly. “I would also guess this was a distraction from our main aim.”

“Clarke!” Raven exclaimed. “You think they’ve taken her and the others too?”

“Too much noise.” Anya said. “Too many disturbances to the peace. The mountain men don’t like it when there is war – they especially don’t like it when your weapons are used – guns and explosions are cause for much concern.”

“So that’s what Lincoln meant.” Bellamy said the words aloud without thought.

“Only one way to find out.” Miller said. “We track them down and wreak havoc.”

“It’s what we’re best at after all.” Raven was grinning as she spoke.

“Are you with us, or are you willing to give up on your people so easily?” Bellamy met Anya’s eyes without restraint.

“I am curious to see what you can do.” She nodded. “So, for now, I will accompany you.”

Her warriors protested vociferously but she shut them down with a few choice words. “Borga and Hayle will accompany me. The rest of you must travel to Tondc and let Heda know the news. The injured must also be seen to.”

“What happened to Nyko?” Miller asked. Bellamy wanted to kick him for giving away the fact they knew who the village healer was, but other than an assessing look, Anya asked no questions.

“He was among the taken.”

“Alright.” Bellamy turned and headed straight into the forest. He chanced a look back at the warrior woman with her strangely beautiful and haunting eyes. “Does this mean we have our treaty?”

“We will see, Skaikru leader, we will see.”

It was enough for now, to be joined in their rescue of their people. To be hunting down the bastards who had taken his sister with every intention of making them suffer. The rest was sheer politics, and he’d leave that for his co-leader, when they eventually caught up with her.

They were roughly thirty minutes into their tense journey when a large crashing noise reverberated throughout the forest, trembling the soil, causing the branches to sway and shaking even the smallest of leaves from their anchors. When the earth settled beneath him, Bellamy turned to look at his equally mystified companions. 

“What the ever-loving fuck was that now?” he said.

 

Octavia

It was a sad state of affairs that Octavia could think of quite a few occasions in her short life thus far where she’d been scared out of her mind. Despite that, she honestly hadn’t felt this kind of sheer confusion and terror in a long time. Maybe not ever.

Even when she’d been hidden under the floorboards on the Ark – when she’d struggled with such a keen sense of loneliness and depravation, she’d known deep down that she wasn’t completely alone. Her mother and brother were on the other side of the floor. Bellamy’s voice was all the reassurance she’d needed to stay silent and practise infinite patience. And besides, the cubby she’d occupied for much of her childhood was familiar. A strange comfort, even. There was nothing familiar about her current situation.

All around her grounders were trussed up and practically hog tied to each other, and she was among their number, doing her best to blend in with the crowd. Lincoln and Nyko were the only faces she knew, and they’d been restrained with the other males ahead of her – herded like so many sheep through the forest. It was chilling in the extreme, the sense of impending doom. Lincoln sent her reassuring and fierce looks – the kind she would have expected from Bellamy, had she found herself in this situation with him. It helped, a little.

Then there were these new reapers – vicious, harsh looking people who made the grounders look like little Savages in contest with the adult rabid dogs they’d encountered while searching for Front Royal. The first time one of them spoke she couldn’t contain her shock – she’d expected nothing but grunts and snarls based on their appearance and observed behaviour. But they were organised – they had a clear leader, and a clear idea of where they intended to take their captives.

She’d almost let that lull her into a false sense of security. They were safe for the time being – time to figure out an escape route. But then one of the grounder women had unsurprisingly decided to fight for her life – she’d found a way to free herself of the bindings and made a run for it. A bash to the head with a rock had ended that rebellion fast and hard. But that wasn’t what had tremors running down Octavia’s arms and quivering in her legs. The reaper, a scarred looking thing with hair so wild and overgrown only one eye was visible, had licked the bloody rock. As though that was the signal – a bell tolling ‘time to feast you crazy barbarians’ – they swarmed the fallen warrior and…ate her.

If she was younger, she might have peed herself in fright. But she held it in, rolling stomach and panicked mind, as though the pee might attract the sharks in the metaphorical water.

After that, there were no signs of dissent. Shocked silence on her part and a strange kind of defeat from the others. She wasn’t sure how the 100 had managed to survive so long without running into these strange, new grounders, but she could only thank whatever gods might exist that they had. They wouldn’t have survived if these not-grounders had been set loose among them in those first days, and she shivered anew at the thought.

Not long after the cannibalistic feast had ended, they had approached a large wall of ivy that seemed incongruous in the forest. The reapers seemed enthused at the sight of it, and she knew they had entered their domain when a naturally camouflaged door was opened to reveal nothing but darkness. She lost sight of Lincoln and Nyko once they moved into the tunnels – the always-night enveloping her and stealing all her senses but for the cold seeping into her bones.

Up ahead a light gleamed, a miraculous warmth that began the process of unfreezing her mind. Was Bellamy going out of his mind with worry right now? Probably. But that just meant he was on his way to get her – if anyone could be counted on to pursue her to ends of the earth – literally where she felt she might be by now – it was her big brother.

“Ah.” A cold, calculated feminine voice murmured. “Line them up here.”

The tunnel had ended in front of a metal hatch, propped open enough for Octavia to glean bright, white lights, but nothing further. She watched the woman in a yellow full-body radiation suit observe them through her clear glass viewing panel. She was pale, despite the brown skin tone that spoke of her Asian heritage, and her eyes were both assessing and dismissive at once.

Octavia found herself pushed to her knees in the dirt, but didn’t so much as squeak out a protest. Looking to her right she realised she’d been miraculously placed next to Lincoln, and that small bud of hope that had arisen at the thought of her brother coming to rescue her grew infinitesimally larger.

“Whatever you do.” Lincoln leaned into her, his words a mere whisper against her cheek. “Don’t let them realise you’re different.”

The woman began a slow prowl up the line of weary warriors, like a panther stalking its prey.

“Harvest.”

“Harvest.”

“Harvest.”

And so on. Every time she spoke, more people appeared from behind the door and dragged the condemned away. When she reached Lincoln, Octavia held her breath. The woman hesitated too, and it could mean nothing good.

“Mark this one for the Cerberus project.” Her eyes gleamed nastily.

And then Lincoln was being pulled from her side, his eyes stubborn, and fearsome, and telling her to hold on because he wasn’t going to be separated from Clarke for long.

“Harvest.” The woman dismissed her like the others. As she was dragged away, the last in line to receive her fate, she watched the reapers drop to their knees one by one like puppies and wait for the wicked long syringe filled with bright red liquid the woman now held above their heads. 

 

Clarke

Harsh light bled through the frail skin of Clarke’s eyelids, turning her world a fluorescent crimson spider-webbed with fine veins that throbbed in time with her heart beat. She groaned and furrowed her forehead to scrunch her eyes more tightly closed. The rest of her senses came back online slowly, like a failed reboot of an old computer. Soft mattress cradling her body, slight clinical smell to the air – the kind that reminded her of the medical bay back on the Ark and all her times interning with Dr Rogers - the faint mechanical whir of an air processor, a chemical taste in the back of her throat, a large, warm hand clutching hers reassuringly. 

Wait. Her eyes shot open – her pupils rapidly dilating to lessen the shock of so much white. White walls and floors and ceiling. Bright white lights. Medical equipment and…was that priceless artwork hanging on the wall? Where in the hell was she? More importantly, who in the hell had a hold of her hand, because even temporarily blinded as she was, instinctively she knew it wasn’t Lincoln. Too clammy, too smooth, too tight a grip.

Clarke turned her head to the side, a deadened sensation in the base of her stomach. Floppy brown hair framed a familiar face, one she couldn’t in good conscience say she was happy to see, even if it was well-known and doing a darned good impression of glad to see her.

“Finn.” Her voice was raspy and she gritted her teeth. “What’s going on?”

“You’re safe, Clarke.” Finn leaned further into her personal space, his grip on her hand tightening to the point of pain. “The important thing to remember is that no one can hurt you now.”

Clarke pried her hand loose with insistent tugs and sat up. Finn reached for her pillow to fluff it up, but her warning glare must have been impressive because he diverted his hands to fiddle with the edges of the sheet instead.

“Where are we?” She searched the room for clues, finding none beyond the obvious presence of a camera in one corner and another by the door, their blinking red lights indicating they were at this very moment being recorded. More clinically designed furniture by way of a white leather sofa and coffee table filled the sparse room. The only messy things appeared to belong to Finn – a littering of empty food wrappings and water bottles, a scrunched-up blanket and indented pillow telling her he had been here a while. Set up camp as though he had every right to be in what was clearly her hospital room of some kind. “Why are you here?”

“This is the mountain, Clarke.” Finn smiled in that way she used to find cockily adorable. “The people who live here have sworn to help us. They’re not primitive like the grounders – they have tech, and proper schooling, and a president, and cake…wait till you try the cake.”

Clarke observed the fanatical glint in his eye with a swirling stomach. “While cake sounds tempting, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. Where are the others?”

“Let me take you to them.” He reached for her hand again and she drew it back out of reach. His smile turned a little sour. “You’ll learn to trust me again, it’ll be just like before, you’ll see. I’ve helped you save our people – we’re all finally safe.”

“How long have I been here?” 

“The effects of the drugs took their toll on you, you’ve been asleep for nearly 20 hours.”

“Take me to the others.” Clarke pursed her lips and pulled the IV from her arm before Finn could think to help her. Now that she thought about it her body did feel rather well-rested, so that was something.

She slipped off the side of bed before he could reach for her again, and indicated with a tilt of her head and an open arm that she was willing to follow him. He approached the sealed door, and with a quick nod back to the camera, it whirred open and allowed them to exit. She eyeballed the lens as she passed.

“Why was the door locked?” 

“Some people have adverse reactions to waking up in an unfamiliar place, so they tell me.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You should already know this, what with your doctors training.”

“It wasn’t common practise on the ark to lock people in their rooms remotely.” Clarke said.

“Just easier here, I guess.” Finn led her towards a dated elevator and pressed a key card to the service panel to activate it. “As you can see,” he waved his key card in front of her, “once you’ve been accepted into their society there are no restrictions on your movements.”

“Oh, I see alright.” She mumbled under her breath. She saw he’d become enamoured with the idea of these people, of this place…and unfortunately, of her staying here with him. They had drugged her, and kidnapped her, however well-intentioned they thought they were, she wasn’t buying it.

The elevator jolted to life beneath them and delivered them down to the sub-level fifth floor with a rumble of metal against metal and squealing brakes. When the doors clanked open, a wave of noise greeted Clarke. Contrary to what she’d expected, it was the sounds of celebration and excited conversation. They followed the plain brown corridor until it opened into a large dining area. The members of the 100 who had been in captivity with her were mingled and similarly outfitted amongst a colourfully dressed population she didn’t recognise and instinctively knew were the inhabitants of this mountain. They had pale, pale skin – the kind that hadn’t seen the sunlight in generations – and she started to get an inkling of the situation down here.

The assembly ate from real china plates, food taken from heaped platters, cups filled with colourful drinks. It was a little like Clarke imagined the tea party might have been in Alice in Wonderland, only with less whistling and mad acrobatics. Finn was right, there was cake – rich, chocolate-icing dripped confection the like she had never seen. It instantly made her mouth water. Priorities, Clarke, priorities.

“See.” Finn’s breathe was an unwelcome warmth at her ear. “See how happy they are? They’re finally home, Clarke. You’ve done it.”

“This isn’t home.” Clarke stepped away from Finn but turned her body to face him. “What happened to the Diana and her guards?”

Finn scowled. “They were a little less cooperative when they woke. They’ll need some more time before they can be integrated with the general populace.” 

“Meaning?”

“Why don’t I let President Wallace fill you in.” Finn said. “You’ll like him, he’s an artist too.”

A distinguished grey-haired gentleman in a three-piece suit left his spot at the head table and approached them with measured steps. He held out a pallid, fragile hand for her to shake, and not wanting to appear rude or contrary, she took it firmly in her own.

“Delighted to meet you, Miss Griffin.” Wallace said. “You’re devoted friend here has told me so much about you.”

“He has?” Clarke raised an eyebrow. 

Finn blushed and looked down at his feet. The move felt calculated to Clarke, and the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach swelled out of control. 

“I’d be interested in hearing what else Finn has been telling you.” Clarke said. “But firstly, I’d like to know how soon I can get out of here.”

“Leave?” Wallace frowned. Finn shifted at her side, his body so tense she reacted accordingly and tightened her hands into fists at her sides. “But why would you want to leave? You’ve only just awoken and it’s dangerous out there, as I’m sure you can attest.”

Clarke met this clever man’s eyes with a fierceness he could not mistake. “Because this isn’t my home, and the rest of my people are out there, in danger, as you say, and likely wondering what’s happened to me.”

“Sir.” A guard approached, a gun strapped casually to his hip. “Cage needs you in security.”

President Wallace, as it happened, did know how to look something other than genial and innocent. He sent his guard a scathing look. “Not now.”

“But sir.” The guard lowered his voice. “There’s a problem with the new Cerberus intake – one of them is loose.”

“I see.” Wallace nodded his head sagely at those cryptic words. “It seems my attention is needed elsewhere at this moment, Miss Griffin. Finn will take you to the bunk room assigned to you, but I’d be delighted if you would have breakfast with me in my private quarters tomorrow. We have much to discuss.”

Knowing when to feign compliance for her own gains, Clarke nodded regally. “I’ll look forward to it.” Not.

Wallace walked away in hurried strides accompanied by his guard. When Finn tried to take her arm to lead her away, Clarke snatched it out of reach.

“You can’t have forgotten.” Clarke said. “Because it wasn’t that long ago. But I belong with Lincoln – that hasn’t changed.”

There was a nasty light to Finn’s eyes before he turned away, hiding his expression. “Everything changes, over time.”

“Not this, Finn.” She said. “Not this.”

He waved her forward, his body still far too close for comfort, as though she hadn’t spoken at all, and she began to realise that being in this strange mountain society wasn’t her biggest problem. Convincing Finn she didn’t belong with him was starting to feel like a top priority. First though, she felt a need to discover where Diana had been taken, and Dax along with her. If they were being uncooperative, their treatment would be a good indication of what she’d be dealing with the moment she made a play for her escape.


	17. The Magic Word

A/N: Thank you for sticking with me and showing such immense patience, my Padawans. I’m trying my best to now get this story finished, so stay tuned!  
Disclaimer: All things The 100 related belong to Kass Morgan and the writers of the amazing TV show – the rest is mine!

Chapter Seventeen

Lincoln

Water dripped relentlessly in the darkness. Every splat echoed loudly in the empty spaces that surrounded him. It niggled at his restlessness. It bated his confusion, his rising rage. He was angry – so angry. Why was he angry again? He ached for the peace the needle had given him. The red and the shiny. Where was he? He wondered. Was he supposed to be here? Why was it so dark, and cold, and why did he feel as though a building rested on his chest? Like bars had been put up around his mind?  
Lincoln shifted his legs and found them bound. Tucking his chin and staring down his prone body, he struggled to lift his chest, his arms. His forehead was strapped down and his eyes rolled in panic. He gritted his teeth and made animalistic sounds. Grunted and swore. Spat and hissed.  
He didn’t like this, he didn’t like this at all. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Was he supposed to be here? This was wrong - all wrong. The dark and the cold and the straps.  
He tried to think back to before the room. Before the darkness and the needle. It wasn’t very long ago – surely? But what was wrong with him that he couldn’t remember? His panic started to increase – a tremble wracked his body. Starting small and resulting in an all-out shake that rattled his teeth. Spittle flew from his mouth as he cursed and yelled. For anyone to hear him, to help him, to release him from this hell. One of the straps on his arm loosened and he latched onto that one small freedom.  
A noise at the door. Metal on metal. High pitched beeps. Locks grinding, voices murmuring. People talking. Someone was coming.  
Then he heard the word said in a soft, genteel tone as the door was opened slightly. The person paused. He knew that word. It meant safety, it meant peace. It meant home and love and light. How he needed the light right then. He craved it. But he craved something else as well.  
The door swung open fully and he stilled his body and watched. Watched carefully and quietly. He remembered how to be quiet – he remembered how to observe. A doctor strode inside – a slim, pretty woman with dark skin, dark hair and a long pure white coat. She held a needle in one hand – the redness glowed like a beacon and a hunger began in his stomach. In his brain and in his nerves – thrumming relentlessly. He needed that needle. He needed the shiny red. He needed that light – didn’t he just say he needed light? It was his. It belonged to him.  
A small part of his mind recognised it was addiction. But he needed what was in that glass vial. He needed it, didn’t he?  
The doctor smiled at him and cooed. As though he were a frightened animal. It twisted her face from something pleasant to a monster in hiding.  
“I’ve brought you a gift.” She said. The soft, genteel voice knocked around inside his head. “The last one before you’ve got to start working for it.”  
Then he remembered the word. Another feminine voice, but one that didn’t hide something monstrous. She approached with the confidence of the righteous. Sure of his docility.   
He swung his arm wide and the loose strap snapped. The doctor was too close for her own good. He grabbed the needle from loose fingers, and after a moment’s indecision, slammed it into her side, pressed down the plunger, and watched her roll to the floor with the breath knocked out of her.   
He hesitated again. Did he really just give away his shiny and red? The door was still partially open and he knew, instinctively, that more people would be coming. To tie him down. To give him needles that he needed but didn’t need. He used his unbound hand to rid himself of the other cumbersome straps holding him down to the table.  
On his feet now, weaving a little unsteadily, he staggered out the door. His mind was clearing, ever so slightly. Like the wind breaching the fog. Acid fog like the mountain men liked to use. Only in his mind not on his skin.   
His body felt alive. He thrummed with purpose and deadly intent. He remembered the word again.  
“Clarke.” He muttered deeply. “Clarke.”

 

Bellamy

He didn’t need this shit. He really didn’t.  
Knelt low in the cool shelter offered by the hybrid oaks with their skeletal leaves, Bellamy watched the survivors as they emerged from the broken and jagged metal mess that was formerly the Arc. It was an immense man-made structure – at once so familiar and so outlandish as it finally stood (more like collapsed in an exhausted heap) on solid Earth. Once the prison for dreamers, now forever a mass escape pod and deliverer of hope.   
Look at him, getting all poetic. He was damn near making himself sick.  
How they had survived the fall from space he didn’t know, mostly he didn’t care, but he was struck with the irony of the situation. These Arcadians were now the trespassers. The unknown, untrusted entity - despite the fact Bellamy recognised many of them. They represented an uncertainty. They represented a possible threat. More importantly, they represented change and he’d about had all the changes he could handle lately.  
Anya sidled up beside him, Borga and Hayle ever-present at her back. “Why do you watch from the shadows? These are your people, are they not?”  
Bellamy took a moment to organise his thoughts. She was a tricky one this woman, totally devoid of any humour or susceptibility to his charm, and he didn’t want to show any weakness. He wouldn’t have stopped at all if the shortest way to the mountain wasn’t directly through the crash site. There wasn’t time to divert their path and he thought they could sneak by, he just hadn’t counted on the survivors behaving much as the 100 had when they first landed – spreading themselves out and exuberantly exploring with no rhyme or reason to their actions. Pure excitement and curiosity riding them.  
He’d wanted to assess the situation without emotion, but Raven and Miller also wouldn’t be deterred and he could practically feel their excitement.   
He stood and turned to Anya. “My people are the people already on the ground – the ones who fought to survive with me over the past weeks. Those people locked my people up.”  
“Maybe you’re being too harsh.” Miller said. He crouched beside Bellamy and rubbed at his forehead as though the situation was giving him a migraine. “They pardoned our crimes after all.”  
“I don’t think so.” said Bellamy. “I shot Jaha in order to get on the spaceship – that crime hasn’t been pardoned. Besides, you think they’re going to leave us to live as we are? They’re going to want us back under their thumb, and everything we’ve worked for will be dust. – to them we’ll always be the kids.”  
Raven elbowed her way forward. “You’re just looking out for your own interests. There’s no reason to think we can’t live in peace, together or apart.”  
Bellamy laughed. “Now who’s sprouting optimistic, peace-loving bullshit? You’re starting to sound like Clarke.”  
“You mean a rational counterpart to your emotional responses? There are worse things.” Raven said.  
“Either way, we’re wasting daylight here.” Bellamy said. “Octavia and the others are out there somewhere, in danger, and I don’t intend to stick around and form a welcoming committee.”  
“You’re such a pain in the ass.” Raven said. Her words were a distracted mutter as she watched the latest survivors emerge from the hatch.  
“That’s what all the women say.” Miller snickered.  
Bellamy laughed and rose, readying himself to depart. His curiosity was satisfied – the survivors of the Arc would be too busy assimilating and tending to the injuries that he’d seen were plentiful to begin their search for the delinquents. It was all about priorities, as Clarke was constantly reminding him. Right now, his priority was to get to the mountain and figure out a way inside.  
“Wait.” Raven clutched his forearm and stared into the distance. “I think that’s…yes, it’s Abby!”  
Her voice had risen considerably and Bellamy hushed her irritably. “And your point is?”  
Raven rolled her eyes. “If anyone would be willing to drop anything and rescue Clarke from the mountain, it’s her mom – come on!”  
Before Bellamy could curse her out for her recklessness, she’d bounded forward, out of the cover of the forest and into the clearing of churned earth, riddled with debris still spiralling smoke into the sky.   
“Stay here.” He ordered the others, and cursing her he followed at a slow lope, fully knowing that for all the world he looked like he was taking a nice Sunday afternoon stroll. One with a rifle strapped to his back and the handle of a knife reassuringly brushing against his fingertips as they rested in his pockets.   
The sight of Raven running full pelt at the survivors had unsurprisingly sent them into a panic. Rumpled guards scrambled for weapons, injured people cowered back, and Dr Abby Griffin, ever-composed and sure of her place in their society, stood with her hands on her hips. Finally recognising Raven, she broke what appeared to be a sincere smile.   
“Calm down, everyone.” Abby said. “It’s just the kids.”  
“The kids.” Bellamy practically choked on his sour expression. “Fucking kids they sent down to die.”  
The survivors watched on wide-eyed and cleared a path for the three of them. Raven embraced the woman with an obviously mutual affection. She rolled her eyes back at him, showing she’d heard his muttered words and typically didn’t think much of them. She’d soon see he was right.  
“Clarke.” Abby asked, though it wasn’t posed as a question. She gripped onto Raven’s arms and her words held the kind of fervour only a parent could possess.  
“We have a lot to catch up on.” Raven said. “But she’s safe…sort of.”  
“What do you mean, sort of?” Abby drew back. “What’s happened to my daughter?”  
Bellamy cleared his throat. “If you wanna ask those guards to drop their guns, we’ll happily catch you up. But we’ll need to have this reunion on the road – we have a princess and her people to rescue from the big bad tower.”  
Abby turned those piercing eyes on him. “Bellamy Blake.”  
A dark haired man with an air of confident authority shouldered his way past the guards, his easy manner and relaxed bearing helped Bellamy recognise him as Marcus Kane. Politician and wanna-be Chancellor.  
“Ah. The man himself.” Kane said. “It gives me great pleasure to tell you you’re under arrest for the attempted murder of Chancellor Jaha.” He gestured to the guards. “Arrest him.”  
Bellamy pulled the knife from his pocket when one of the guards managed to reach his side. “Touch me and I’ll rearrange your face.”  
The guard, a severe looking blonde he hesitated to call a woman, purely because she frightened the hell out of him, gave both him and the other guards who nervously stayed back disgusted looks. She pulled out a laser baton and gave him a grim smile.  
Before he could contemplate how to tussle her to the ground without getting a sparkly jolt to his kidneys, Abby called, “Halt.”  
The guard paused reluctantly, and Kane turned to Abby, his eyes veiled. “You’re not Chancellor yet, Abby, and he’s a criminal. You know our system.”  
“I know the system we maintained when we were stuck on the Arc, with limited space and a need for strict, unbending rules.” She turned to address the masses as they watched with avid gazes. “Population control is no longer an issue, and all our laws need an overhaul to fit within our new circumstances.”  
Mutterings started – some humming with possibility, agreement, others the grumblings of an angry or unsure public.  
“Besides.” She turned back to Kane and cocked her hip. “You’re not Chancellor yet either, Marcus, and you have no authority to order this man’s arrest.”  
“I have my position as Captain of the Guard that grants me the right.” Kane said. “And I agree, the laws need some work. But need I remind you that attempted murder is a capital offence, whether on the ground or in space. We need rules to live by and that’s an unbreakable one.”  
“I hate to interrupt what I’m sure will be a thrilling political debate, sure to win the hearts and minds of the people in your running for chancellor.” Bellamy said. “But I consider myself a citizen of Front Royal, and therefore, it’s not under your jurisdiction to decide punishment for my alleged crimes.”  
“Front Royal?” Kane looked baffled.  
“That’s what I said.” Bellamy smiled cockily. “Me and my co-leader will be willing to talk trade negotiations when you’ve got yourself a little more settled.”  
“Co-leader?” Abby asked.  
Bellamy smiled. “You might know her – blonde, a little self-righteous, and annoyingly brave?”  
“Dad!” Bellamy glanced behind him as Miller came sprinting forward, startling people into more gasps, and threw himself at a large, tired looking guard who had just emerged from the twisted hulk of the Arc.   
“You’ll find,” Bellamy continued, over the touching family reunion nearby. “That it would be in your best interest to view us as allies. Trust me, you don’t want to make enemies on the ground.”  
“Be that as it may, your crimes were committed when you were still a citizen of the Ark.” Kane’s lips thinned and he rocked back on his heels. “Place him under arrest!”  
The crowd began to back away, shifting restlessly. The blonde looked at him like all her Christmases had come at once.  
“Wait a second.” Raven finally twigged the precarious situation and jolted forward. “There’s no need for that.”  
“Miss Reyes, I presume.” Kane smiled like a doting father. “I’ve heard a lot good things. Though I’m remembering fondly that you’ve committed quite a few crimes of your own.”  
“Hey.” Bellamy scowled. “Your beef is with me.”  
“My beef, as you put it, is with any and all who disregard the laws put in place to keep us all safe.” Kane eyed his surrounding guards and tilted his head towards them both. “Arrest them.”  
The blonde guard looked up at him from beneath furrowed brows and twirled her baton. “Are we gonna have a problem?”  
Bellamy eyed all the guns pointed their way and sighed. “No problems here.”  
“What happened to Mr I-am-a-citizen-of-Front-Royal?!” Raven exclaimed from beside him as they were both trussed up with make-shift cuffs and led towards an open doorway of the wreck.  
Bellamy discreetly shook his head at Miller when they passed. The last thing he wanted was for the only free one of them to get arrested for obstruction of justice too. “He wants to survive, that’s what.”  
The best way out of this situation was through it. They’d just crashed – the likelihood of them having a totally secure prison was minimal. He’d find a way out of this, just see if he didn’t. And then he’d make Kane eat his words.

 

Clarke

Clarke looked down at the ragged cut on her forearm. Creating the wound had been painful to say the least, and frankly, it just plain sucked to have to hurt herself in order to save herself. Irony itself. She was running low on options, however, and this one was the most easily done.  
She’d retreated to a communal bathroom further down the corridor, thankfully without Finn dogging her footsteps (clearly he had some sense of boundaries, though not by much) and she’d broken off the edge of the large mirror to create the weapon. Hopefully no one would discover the snapped off corner anytime soon. But it was the only thing she could think of to buy herself some time, some privacy, and hopefully the chance to snoop around. She told them she’d tripped and caught herself on the edge of the utilitarian metal sinks. So far her excuse held up.  
Finn was relentless, and while Wallace and his security were distracted, it was an opportune time to get her bearings and figure out if there was a way out.  
She lay on a spotless white bed in the large medical ward that smelt of antiseptic. She’d been made to change into a lemon yellow hospital gown and her blood-contaminated clothing was taken away. Big industrial fans whirred along one wall, providing a rhythmic back beat to the gentle bleep of monitors. It was dark and dank in there, but she watched out of the corner of her eye as a nurse pottered about, administering IV fluids of some description to a couple of other prone, unconscious patients. Only medical patients were allowed in Medical so Finn had been turned away at the door. For that alone, Clarke was tempted to kiss the nurse in gratitude.  
When the nurse left the room without a word, closing the door firmly and quietly behind her, Clarke wasted no time in hopping out of bed. She approached the nearest patient and shook his arm, calling out the name she read off his chart – he was out for the count. She looked at the strange ports on his chest that seemed to be filled with blood. Then she stared at the electronic system the ports and their tubes were connected to…were they recycling his blood?  
He had numerous radiation burns over his face and arms that didn’t look nearly as severe as they had a few hours earlier. It was beyond suspicious that his treatment should cure him so easily.  
Clarke followed the tubes as they looped past the machines, her mind whirring. They went through the walls into the room beyond. How strange. There were circular, slatted vents close to the floor and she knelt down to try and see through. She got strange impressions of a cavernous space full of shadows and slants of light but it wasn’t enough. And chains…was that noise the rattle of chains?  
She yanked at the grate until her fingers felt numb and it gave, then crawled through the space just wide enough for a person to fit through. On the other side there were a mass of tubes and wires running along the floor. Some filled with blood and others empty. She stepped out of the shadows, looked up at the strange hulking items she sensed above her, and gasped.  
Hanging from the ceiling, secured by the rattling chains around their bound feet, were numerous lifeless grounders. Stripped of their clothing, except for strange sterile underwear, their arms hung slackly towards the floor and they twirled sickeningly in the small wind flow created by the fans. Tubes entered them in identical ports to the patients in the medical ward. Like livestock in a butcher’s freezer they were being drained of their blood. She felt sickened.  
Clarke cautiously walked further into the room – gulping air as though she’d been deprived. There was a long hallway branching off a ways – lined with large metal cages from floor to ceiling on either side. Each one contained a dirty, skinny and helpless looking human – cattle caged for slaughter.  
What the hell were the mountain men doing? Had they been stealing grounders all this time to use their blood?  
A small noise from a nearby cage had Clarke jumping in surprise. Even though she knew she wasn’t alone, far from it in actual fact, she felt jumpier than a cat on a hot tin roof. Or so the saying supposedly went.  
The grounders started mumbling once they recognised her presence. They hissed out – some in warning, some with pleas of help and surrender. One dark haired individual curled into a ball caught Clarke’s eye and she let out an involuntary yelp.  
“Octavia!” She hurried over, sank to her knees and wrapped her fingers around the bars of the cage. Octavia looked up with bleary, unfocused eyes that cleared once she realised who had found her. She shifted to sitting and wrapped her hands around Clarke’s, meeting her eyes with pure relief lighting her gaze.  
“Hang on.” Clarke said. “I’m going to get you out of there.”  
“It’s locked.” Octavia whispered, her voice hoarse. “But boy am I glad to see you.”  
Clarke looked around for something she could use as leverage to force the cage open. “How did you end up here?”  
“Your grounder dude went to the other grounders for a truce – long story short, there was a reaper attack and we were captured. Turns out the mountain men keep the reapers as a kind of pet and roll them out when needed.”  
“Lincoln?” Clarke stopped searching when she found a crow bar and started levering at the gap between the door and side of the cage, pushing down with all her weight.   
“I haven’t seen him since the tunnels.” Octavia said. She shuffled back to give Clarke some room. “They slated him for something called the Cerberus project. I was meant for harvest – you can see how well that turned out.”  
At her words Clarke’s head shot up. “Cerberus?” she asked. “Are you sure that’s what they said?”  
“Definitely.”  
Clarke was well versed in her Greek mythology, and had a feeling she was beginning to get a well-rounded idea of the set up inside the mountain. Guard dogs of hell indeed.  
“And the others?”  
“I don’t think they captured Bellamy, or Roan, or even Raven or Murphy.”  
So there was still hope for an outside intervention. At least they had that – if they could just get a message to Bellamy they could coordinate an escape plan. She levered her weight a bit more and the lock on the cage snapped. Octavia tumbled out into her arms in a rush, hugging her fiercely.  
“You weren’t joking when you said you were glad to see me.” Clarke said.  
Octavia laughed. “Too damn right.”  
“Clarke!” They both jumped and separated. It was said with a roar, reverberating through the room from somewhere outside, and Clarke knew exactly who it was, despite the odd, animalistic quality to the tone.  
“Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” Octavia said.  
“Lincoln?” she called out desperately.  
“Clarke!” He yelled again, closer. So close.  
Clarke got to her feet and fled down the corridor. He came bursting through a set of double doors – sweat shining on his skin, his eyes black as night and his face set in a severe scowl.  
She didn’t hesitate. She ran straight into his outstretched arms and sobbed with relief. He was okay. She was okay. Everything was going to be okay.  
“Clarke.” He grunted against her neck where he’d buried his face. One hand was fisted tightly in her hair and the other in the material of her hospital gown.  
She stepped back, still within the limit of his arms, but he tightened his hold and refused to let her go.  
“It’s okay.” She soothed, running her hands down his back. “I’m okay. You’re okay. It’s okay.” She repeated it like a mantra in her head again and again.  
“Clarke.” He rumbled. He pulled her back into his arms and held her closely. He smelt like Lincoln – like musk and pine. And something strangely sweet she couldn’t identify.  
“Okay.” Octavia eyed them from behind Lincoln’s shoulder from where she’d approached. “I think okay is a subjective word. We’re still trapped inside this mad house, and hot grounder dude seems to be having some abandonment issues.”  
Clarke tilted her head back, and cradled Lincoln’s cheeks with her hands. “What’s wrong?”  
“Shiny red.” He mumbled. “The doctor gave me the light.”  
His words made little to no sense, but still, Clarke knew it was all she was going to get from him. Her excitement over the reunion was now faintly tinged with a new worry. Whatever they had given Lincoln made him virtually useless to any and all escape plans that didn’t involve brute force.  
“Okay.” Clarke said. “I have a plan.”   
“Does this plan involve leaving this hell hole in the dust?” Octavia asked.  
“It’s your lucky day.” She smiled grimly at Octavia. “I need you to take Lincoln and get out of here.” Clarke braced herself when she felt him shudder. “He’s not safe in here, and neither are you. Wherever he’s escaped from he’s bound to be found sooner or later, and all of us leaving doesn’t help. They haven’t done anything to harm me and that means I can get the rest out.”  
“I will not leave you.” Lincoln got up in her face, his expression screamed violence. It should have been frightening, but she knew, even with whatever drug they had given him coursing through his system, he would never hurt her. Never.  
Clarke gripped his hand as she pulled back from him  
“I’m with him on this.” Octavia thumbed Lincoln. “No way are we leaving you here.”  
“We need an inside man.” She said. “You know that – I’m the best choice – the only choice.”  
Octavia squirmed. She nodded silently at Clarke, reluctantly accepting her decision. Lincoln on the other hand, was in the wrong frame of mind for pretty much anything that involved rationality.  
Clarke gripped his hands and managed to step back. He watched her like a hunter, his steps a prowl. Eyeing a door she’d passed earlier and praying her suspicions were correct, she led Octavia and Lincoln through it and stopped when they all stood in the small square, windowless space. Lincoln went happily enough, seen as they were still together and touching.  
She turned herself about in the room and edged to the conspicuous lever against the entrance wall. She stepped forward and kissed Lincoln firmly, holding her forehead against his for a few seconds and relishing in his presence.  
“I’m not safe if you stay.” She told him in a subdued voice. “You need to detox, and you can’t do it here.”  
She looked to Octavia. “Tell Bellamy the key to the reapers is detox – get them off that drug and you’ve got yourself an army and a way in with the grounders.”  
Lincoln eyed her with wariness. “Remember, I love you.”  
She stepped back as far as she could and yanked the lever down. She watched them disappear down the chute, Octavia shrieking in surprise, and felt irrationally close to tears.   
“Get home.” She called out after them. “Get safe, and then come back for me.”  
Boots reverberated loudly off the floor nearby and it jolted Clarke back to the situation at hand. Quick as a flash, she exited the room marked ‘Disposal’ and ran to the grate, sparing only a pained glance at the still caged grounders whose noise level was rising with her anxiety. Thankfully, it just meant they covered the sounds she was aware she was making in her rush.  
She scrambled through the hole and propped the grate back as best she could, then leapt for her prior position. Clarke lay back down in the hospital bed, closed her eyes and stilled her movements, just as the door was swung open and banged against the wall loudly. She held her breath and prayed.

A/N: Thanks for reading, lovelies! All comments are welcome – the encouragement is also very much appreciated – much, much love!!


	18. The Pursued and the Pursuing

A/N: And we’re rocking and rolling! I have a new story idea that I am just dying to explore, so I really want to get this finished up first. I hate starting new projects when the last one isn’t finished! I want to write this new idea as a fanfic to share with you all, but my end game is to change the names etc. etc. and turn it into a novel for publication. Exciting! (For me, anyhow, hopefully for you too).  
Disclaimer: All things The 100 related belong to Kass Morgan and the writers of the amazing TV show – the rest is mine!

Chapter Eighteen

Octavia

Her scream tapered out to a frenzied giggle. Hot, slick metal brushed against her exposed skin as the chute dropped alarmingly down. Her stomach was way up in her throat, but it was a strange thrill – of knowing you were dropping and couldn’t stop it, but a faith that something at the other end would break the fall. Otherwise, she had some choice words to say to Clarke for springing that trap on them.  
Part of that giggle – okay, maybe 99.9% of it – was down to the immense relief she felt in knowing she wasn’t alone anymore. She was done with being alone – come what may.  
Lincoln had dropped like a stone, and below her she could just see the top of his head and an arm flung up as though he could fly himself super hero style back to Clarke’s side. Shit. What had she got herself into. The urge to giggle again was immediate. Was this what hysteria felt like?  
Amber light suddenly pierced the gloom and they landed in a heap with a one-two thud. It wasn’t exactly a soft landing, but it didn’t break any bones either. Bruises, she was going to have plenty of bruises. Feeling more than a little dazed, Octavia looked up to the edges of a rusted metal container. They were in some kind of open rectangular crate, and outside of this were rough, dark stone walls and torches wedged up high made of real fire, delivering an eerie glow over the low roof. It smelt rotten, like spoilt meat in the heat of the day, and she gagged. Revolting.  
Lincoln grunted a few times and shook his head, seeming disorientated, then lurched to his feet, his eyes shooting straight up as two metal hatch doors in the ceiling closed with a groan. He started to tremble. She knew it wasn’t from fear, rather helplessness and rage.  
“Alright, sexy grounder dude.” Octavia looked down, searching for something to hold onto to pick herself up with.  
Almost immediately she wished she hadn’t.  
They were settled on a dumping ground. Desecrating, to be exact, a damn body dumping ground. A tangled mass of malnourished, bruised, wasted limbs belonging to used and abused bodies. The leftovers from the torture room above she would do anything to erase from her memory. Sucked dry of their life force. And still, blood had congealed in puddles beneath them, and was splashed up the sides of the box. It had looked like rust to her faintly unsuspecting mind. Rust, not dried blood. Never that.  
“Holy shit.” She exclaimed. She lifted her hands and feet into the air, rocking on her back like a struggling turtle, as though to bodily remove herself from the situation. Wishful thinking for sure.  
Lincoln looked back down at her, fury in his expression. Then he looked at the bodies she was staring at – the ones he didn’t seem to mind standing on - and grunted. If he had the presence of mind to roll his near black eyes, she got the feeling he would have. But then, the Lincoln she knew wasn’t at home right now.  
He reached for her arms and hefted her bodily over the side of the container. Like she weighed nothing. Now that she was on the outside looking in, she could see it was extremely old, practically an antique before the world ended, and indeed rusted, but wheeled, on tracks like a train, or on a mining tunnel supply run.  
“Thanks, big guy.” Octavia said. She wiped her palms shakily on her thighs as though she could wipe away the taint of where they were and where they’d been, as easily as that.  
Lincoln used one arm on the edge of the container to heave himself over and landed firmly on the floor at her side, sending a dust cloud up around their feet.  
“What do you say we get out here?” Octavia coughed. She didn’t want to know what happened to the bodies after they ended up here, she just wanted to get the hell out of dodge before the answers presented themselves.  
The tunnel was conspicuously silent. But that didn’t mean they were alone down there. In fact, seeing as how these tunnels were obviously reaper territory, it raised the all–important question – How long before they got back?  
Without a word in response to her, Lincoln set off on the path to their right. His strides were sure and purposeful, and despite knowing his mental state, Octavia felt a certain kind of confidence herself in following him. He seemed to know where he was going.  
This was soon proven both true and highly misplaced, when several hundred yards down their route the tunnel opened out into a main thoroughfare, and the tracks merged with the mainline. Octavia halted on the threshold, and watched as Lincoln stopped in front of a large reinforced metal door. The same door from which the mountain men had first appeared to collect the bounty brought by the reapers.  
Lincoln hadn’t been looking for a way out, he’d been looking for a way back in. Fantastic.  
Clark so owed her for this. Maybe she should start keeping a tally.  
“No.” Octavia leapt forward and grabbed his arm before he could bang his fist against the door and summon any and all people in the vicinity to their location. “We’re not doing this,” she said. “Clarke would be so, so mad if you got yourself recaptured.”  
Lincoln turned to face her. He placed his open palm on the surface of the door and gestured towards it. “ Clarke.”  
“Yes.” She said. “Clarke is in there. But we aren’t getting her out without some help. Warriors, Lincoln, we need some more warriors.”  
“Warriors.” He repeated. She didn’t know if it was her, but his eyes seemed a little bit clearer.   
From behind them came the sounds of many booted feet heading in the same direction. A few snarls and unintelligible grunts. Shit. They were running out of time.  
“Come on.” Octavia grabbed the arm still reaching out towards the door and pulled him back in the direction they had come from.   
He didn’t struggle, and for this she was grateful, because truly she was no match for him. The chances of them escaping what she was sure were a bunch of cannibalistic drug addicts with sharp weapons were now looking slightly better. Don’t panic, Octavia. Don’t panic.  
They were jogging now, side-by-side. She looked to Lincoln and noticed a fine sheen of sweat covering his body. It wasn’t the temperature of the place, because to be honest she was only now noticing just how cold it was, running around in her underwear in what was essentially winter, even if the tunnels were well insulated. Lincoln was sweating the drugs out of his system – the sooner he had a clear head, the better their chances of survival became.   
They reached the container full of bodies, and spying a lone woman curled in the foetal position on the floor at the other end of the tunnel gave Octavia an idea. This woman had something she desperately needed right now – clothing.  
Wait.” She called out to Lincoln when he would have carried on running.  
She quickly dragged the clothes – blood stained and dirty beyond belief - off the woman, doing her best to be both respectful and ignore the fact she was stripping a dead body. Her movements were hurried, but despite this the noises from behind them had increased greatly. The tone had changed – there was excitement and violence thrumming in the air. They were now being actively pursued – so much for being stealthy.  
Barefoot, but clothed, Octavia felt miles better as they renewed their fleeing, breaking into a sprint.  
Fresh air carried towards them on a serious wind, a roar filling the air, buffeting her hair around her face, whipping the small braids against her cheek and making her absurdly glad for her pitstop. Just ahead of them the tunnel ended abruptly, and they both stumbled to a halt, small stones kicking up in their wake and skidding out over the open edge and into the pale blue sky beyond.   
“Double shit.” Octavia said. “This day just keeps getting better and better.”  
“We must jump.” Lincoln said.  
She didn’t know what surprised her more, the fact he had finally spoken a coherent sentence that didn’t involve the word Clarke, or the words that had actually come out of his mouth. She saw immediately that his eyes were returning to their murky brown colour.  
Octavia gingerly tiptoed forward, glanced over the edge, and audibly gulped. “It’s a long way down.”  
They were at the top of the hydro dam, with nothing but smooth, unclimbable walls surrounding them. The water rushing over the side from various drainage holes was like a thousand waterfalls throwing up mist into the cool air.  
“We have no other choice.” He said.   
“Right.” She murmured, her heart in her throat for the second time that day. “After you.”   
“No.” Lincoln said shortly. “After you.”   
Before she could dispute that statement, a hard shove to the middle of her back sent her reeling over the edge. She flat-out screamed until her lungs were bursting. Oh my god. She couldn’t believe he’d done that.  
While she battled with the wind in her face, the spray of water stinging her skin anew, she worried for a moment that Lincoln wouldn’t follow her, and would instead attempt to go back to Clarke now she wasn’t there to stand in his way.   
She needn’t have bothered. She looked up when a short masculine yell announced Lincoln following her down over the edge.  
Seconds later, she hit the water. It was a little like hitting concrete, only colder and wetter, and a damn sight unpleasant when it shot up your nostrils. Though, saying that, there was never a good time for anything to be up your nostrils. Another splash and whoosh sounded nearby, muffled under the water.  
She pushed her aching body to its limits and clawed her way to the surface through the blanket of bubbles. Spluttering, taking a deep breath, she searched around her for Lincoln and kicked energetically to stay afloat. There – his head rose from the water as though he’d been propelled out by an inhuman force. He frantically looked around for her and gestured towards the banks further down.  
Getting the message, Octavia doggy paddled her way against the current. By the time she reached it, washing up on the pebbled shore, she was completely out of breath. Exhaustion slowing her limbs and the cold racking her body with shudders and shakes. Lincoln had got there before her, of course, and he used his superior strength again to yank her out.  
“Thanks.” She mumbled.  
But Lincoln wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were directed up and back the way they’d come, narrowed on the cave entrance they’d made their escape from. She followed his gaze, squinting, and her mouth gaped open. Soaring through the air after them were several reapers, intent on following their quarry through hell and high water – literally.

Clarke 

Clarke knew there was someone hovering at her bedside, but she kept her eyes tightly shut. Breathing evenly, keeping her limbs long and loose. Nothing to see here people – just a sleeping invalid.   
After the footsteps she had first heard passed by the room, there was a bout of silence and then the door had creaked slowly open. More footsteps, these ones soft and singular, had headed straight towards her. The suspense was killing her, but she didn’t dare move or do a single thing to give herself away.  
“You can stop pretending.” Finn said. “I know you’re awake.”  
Clarke’s eyes shot open. His face was freakishly close, leaning directly over her, and the feverish glow she had come to associate with his new, bizarre behaviour (especially where she was concerned) was ever present.  
“How did you know?” She struggled to sit up and draw herself back against the metal-poled headboard and away from Finn.  
“I know everything about you.” He said. His tone was rueful, as though this was a great burden placed upon him but one he cherished all the same. “I may not have been allowed in medical, but President Wallace understood I was anxious after so long apart and granted me access to the video feed.”  
Clarke stared at him with disbelieving eyes. This was a new level of crazy, even for him. “You were watching me…?”  
“Don’t worry.” He said. His hair flopped over his forehead and he looked at her from beneath his lashes. “There wasn’t a lot happening for the first half-hour or so, and I couldn’t see behind the changing curtain.”  
“I… I don’t know what to say to that.” Clarke sucked in a breath. “There was so much wrong with what you just said, I don’t even know where to begin. ”  
Finn noisily dragged over one of the utilitarian chairs from a supply stacked against one wall, and sat down, reaching for her hand and absently patting it before she had the presence of mind to pull it out of reach.   
“I watched you disappear through the grate, of course, and at first I worried you were trying to escape. But I should’ve known. You’re too responsible a leader to leave the rest of the delinquents to face an uncertain fate alone. I even cheered you on when you pulled the lever.”  
Her heart throbbed in her chest to recall the same moment. She thought about Lincoln, and what had been done to him by these people to put that crazed look in his eyes. She wished she could go back again, and kiss him before she pressed the lever. Just once, to give her an extra boost of courage. But she’d still press it – his safety was more important to her than her own. And besides, she had every faith they’d be together shortly.  
She thought about Octavia, and the sickening fate of the caged grounders. She thought about the reapers, and the people they used to be. And she thought about the rest of the 100; those of them back in their new home, unaware of the danger in their midst, and those of them, like her, who had been welcomed with open arms by these deceiving creatures. He was right, their fate was uncertain - chocolate cake and plush accommodations, rare artwork and communal banquets were definitely not the only things on the agenda.   
She tucked her knees up under her thighs and pulled herself up higher. Lifting her chin, she said. “If they know what I did, why aren’t they here arresting me?”  
“That’s an excellent question. I’m so glad you asked.” He crossed his legs and sat back, combing a hand through his hair and giving her a rueful grin. “Having a tech minded ex-girlfriend comes in handy sometimes, let me tell you.”   
“While they were busy running around, trying to track that savage down with such a high level of incompetence ,I’m surprise they survived this long, I interfered with the recordings.” His grin widened. “No one knows what you did, but me.”  
“Why would you cover for me?” She eyed him warily. “You hate Lincoln.”  
“That I do.” Finn smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “But I can’t have you getting in trouble so soon into our stay. President Wallace greatly admires you, but he’s not a soft touch.”  
“Having him out of the picture was just a bonus for me.” He said. “I knew you’d never be accepting of our future together while he was still on the scene.”  
Clarke shook her head at him, one part amazement, one part disbelief. “I don’t know why you still insist on perpetuating this dream-world scenario of yours.”  
Finn simply shrugged his shoulders. “They have grand plans, these mountain men. There’s only one thing they truly need from us that they can’t get from the grounders - fresh blood.”  
Clarke raised an eyebrow. “If you’ve really seen what I saw in the other room, you know that’s not true.”   
“They don’t want to spill our blood, Clarke. They want to mix with it. They need our ability to metabolise radiation in their future generations – the grounders are a lesser being, so they’re suitable for repairs. They recognise that we’re much more civilised – more worthy.”  
She went silent at the implications behind what he said. What the actual hell was going on with these people?  
“You’re talking about a breeding programme.” Clarke sent him a disgusted look. “You expect me and the other girls to be used as broodmares?”   
“You don’t have anything to worry about.” He said. “You’ve been promised to me.”  
“Not in your wildest dreams.” She stood up on the opposite side of the bed to him, using it as a shield.   
“Unless you want me to tell them exactly where they can find the rest of your little friends; their names, their strengths and weaknesses, the layout of your new encampment…well, you get the idea, you might want to start entertaining the idea that sometimes dreams really do come true.”  
“You’re lying.” Clarke frowned. “You’ve never even seen our new home.”   
“I had a highly interesting chat with someone you might remember, goes by the name of Dax. Apparently, he had spies in your midst.”

Bellamy

Whoever said you could judge a society by how well it treats it’s prisoners was seriously onto something. Water? Food? A blanket? They should be so lucky. So far, this experience had sucked. He’d been in way worse though, so his spirits should have been relatively high. If he wasn’t trapped with a mouthy brunette intent on putting the blame for their incarceration on him that is.  
“Aren’t leaders supposed to be diplomatic?” Raven asked. “You sure bit the bullet on that one.”  
He sighed. “Are you seriously defending their actions?”  
“I’m not defending them.” She said. “I’m in here with you, aren’t I?”  
“Unfortunately.”  
“I’m just saying…maybe antagonising them wasn’t the smartest thing you could have done.”  
Bellamy rolled his eyes, and in the process examined the room for the umpteenth time, looking for a way out that didn’t require him magically transforming to the size of a kids doll.   
Wires hung from the ceiling like rainbowed spaghetti, tree branches breaching through gaps in the metal enclosure they found themselves in – sunlight leaking through like water in a sieve. The backs of two tow-headed guards could be seen through the clear doors keeping them locked inside. Surprisingly intact doors, considering the collapsed corridor section they were housed in had gone from rectangular in shape to more of an odd triangle.  
Raven was perched on a fallen ladder, her feet hooked over the rungs and her hair trailing on the floor. For himself, he’d chosen to slump on the floor in the corner, where he could see the entire scope of the place, and see anyone coming before they saw him. It wasn’t comfortable, but since when was prison comfortable?  
“Maybe you could quit rehashing old news and think of a way to get us out of here.” He finally said.  
“Again, isn’t that your job, oh great leader?” Raven laughed bitterly.  
“Snap out of it.” Bellamy growled. “We’re in this situation together whether you like it or not. Besides, nobody asked you to speak up for me, did they?”  
“Believe me.” Raven said. She kicked out at the wall and made a sound of frustration when it just sent out a peel of noise. “I’m being soundly punished for that.”  
“Being a bitch helps no one.”  
“Now, is that any way to talk to a lady?” The disembodied voice came from outside of the ship. Bellamy made out the shape of a jaw, stubbled skin and a lock of greasy dark hair.  
“Murphy?” Bellamy squinted towards the gap. “Is that you?”  
“Who else would it be?” he snarked. “You know anyone else stupid enough to attempt this?”  
“No.” Raven replied. “And who you calling a lady?”  
“The camp?” Bellamy ignored Raven and shot to his feet. “Is everything okay…”  
“It’s fine.” He said. “Monty’s busy turning the rest of our people into little farmers and housewives.”  
“How did you even get in here?” Raven sat up and scowled at them.  
“He had a little help.” Abby stepped forward, blocking the pool of light from a large gap next to the one Murphy hovered at.  
“You know.” Bellamy nodded and looked back at Murphy. “I think this is the first time I’ve genuinely been glad to see you.”  
Murphy laughed dryly. “Please…stop. I think there might be a tear in my eye.”  
“Don’t get used to it.” Bellamy said.  
“So, what’s the plan?” Raven pushed Bellamy out of the way and looked earnestly at Abby.  
Right then, there was a deep rumble beneath their feet, and metal screeched and groaned under pressure as several small explosions rocked the ship.   
“What in the hell was that?” Bellamy shouted to be heard over the overwhelming cries and screams suddenly coming from outside.  
“The distraction.” Murphy said. “Don’t worry – no one was hurt.”  
He set a small contraption down on the floor, fiddling with it for a second, and Bellamy eyed it through yet another gap. “And that is?”  
“Your way out.” Murphy smiled. “You might wanna step back.”  
Bellamy grabbed Raven and hauled her around a corner, taking shelter just in time as a small explosion burst a hole the size of a large trunk in the side of the wall. Not waiting for the smoke to clear, Bellamy squeezed his way through the gap, towing a baffled Raven along with him.  
“Did that really happen?” She asked him.  
Murphy and Abby crept out from behind a large wedge of rock and hustled them over. He looked at Abby curiously, wandering what had made her change her mind about them.  
“Why are you doing this?” he asked.  
“Explanations can come later. First things first.” Abby said. “We meet up with the others. Then, you take me to my daughter.”

A/N: Thanks for reading peeps! As always, let me know what you think if you feel like sharing the love <3


	19. Feeding Time at the Zoo

A/N: I struggled a bit with this one, my energy levels are really low at the moment, but we got there in the end. Only another three to go (I think) before the epilogue!  
Disclaimer: All things The 100 related belong to Kass Morgan and the writers of the amazing TV show – the rest is mine!

Chapter Nineteen

Raven

As they snuck away through the impending darkness, Raven took one last look back at the words someone had blowtorched into a hunk of rusted metal. ‘Camp Jaha’, the sign read. Backlit by various fires people had begun for warmth, before the chaos had sent them running for cover, it seemed to emanate with a level of power the Arcadians had once possessed, and were still struggling to maintain in this new world.  
Up ahead, Bellamy and Murphy strode purposefully in the direction of Mount Weather. Abby had told them others would be joining them up ahead, people who either had relatives among the hundred or felt that what Kane was doing was wrong, and they were eager to put some distance between themselves and the guards. She followed behind at a slightly slower pace, wanting to put a little space between herself and the others – this time for the sake of privacy.  
She turned to look at Abby, who, despite her steadfast composure, was clearly enraptured with the surrounding forest and everything it contained. Luminescent, blue butterflies swarmed past and spiralled away through the trees in a spectacular dance, drawing a gasp from her companion. The glowing moss carpeting the floor and the peculiar-shaped mushrooms seemed to hold a lot of fascination for her too.  
“I can’t believe you guys set off explosives.” Raven said.  
“When it comes to my daughter, there isn’t a lot I wouldn’t do to make sure she’s safe.” Abby ran a hand through her hair and sighed, betraying her worry. “But I made sure they were in areas restricted to the general populous – sites we’d deemed too dangerous - and really they were more for sound effect than anything.”  
“Still…explosions? If they find out you had anything to do with it, never mind orchestrated it, you’ll be seen as a traitor. Likely arrested.”  
Abby shrugged. “You mean when they find out.”  
“What will you do?” Raven sent her a sympathetic look.  
“What I’ve always done - whatever it takes to protect Clarke and whatever it takes to survive, in that order.”  
Raven was struck with such a strong sense of déjà-vu as she thought about the level of love this mother felt for her daughter, with not a small amount of envy thrown in, she admitted. Clarke was lucky, even if they did have a convoluted family history, and she knew from experience that things weren’t perfect. You can’t beat a love like that.  
“What happened on the ark, Abby? After I left you, and before you crash landed. For a long time I was convinced they’d floated you.”  
“Nothing so serious as that. I was arrested – placed in Clarke’s cell in fact.” Abby smiled a secret smile at that.   
“I’m sorry.” Raven reached out an arm to the other woman in comfort.  
“It wasn’t all bad.” Abby smiled wryly. “As the Chief of Medical, I was too important for them to execute, but I lost my spot on the council. Diana used it as an opportunity to move her agenda forward, same as Marcus, only hers was successful in a way that put all our lives at risk.”  
“What did she want?” Raven asked.  
“Mutiny, I suppose. Mostly? What we all wanted - survival. She knew there weren’t enough drop ships to get all our people to the ground. We were keeping it quiet for obvious reasons, and she used that to her advantage.”  
“In some ways, I can’t blame her. Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Abby continued. “But she’s dangerous, and she hurt a lot of people to get what she wanted, with a complete disregard for life. That’s the difference between her and us.”  
“We’ve had to hurt people too.” Raven said. “Being on earth hasn’t been a cake walk, that’s for sure.”  
Abby went quite for a few moments and seemed to be struggling with something. “How’s Clarke been? Really?”  
“She’s strong.” Raven smiled genuinely. “She’s a good leader, and from what I’ve seen, they’ve needed her. Plus, she’s had some help.”  
Abby looked to the boys traipsing ahead of them. “Bellamy?”  
“Her and Bellamy are as different as people can get, for the most part, but as co-leaders? They work. So, yeah, Bellamy. But also, her lover-boy, Lincoln.”  
Abby stopped abruptly, stumbling for a few steps before she whipped around to face Raven, who halted beside her, amused. Abby’s words were strangled as she choked them out. “Love? Lincoln?”  
Raven hiccupped a laugh. “Oh yeah. The big L-O-V-E. Just wait until you see them together.”  
“I don’t remember a Lincoln being on the drop ship manifest.” She muttered.  
“That’s because he wasn’t on the drop ship.” Raven smirked. “He’s a grounder.”  
Abby stalked on ahead, shaking her head in what looked like denial. Raven probably shouldn’t have been as amused by Abby’s shock as she was, but she took laughter wherever she could find it these days. Clarke would forgive her for telling her mom like that – maybe she’d even thank her for taking on the task. She almost couldn’t wait for Lincoln and Abby to come face to face.  
“Did things work out with you and Finn?” Abby turned back to look at her. “I forgot to ask.”  
“That’s a story for another time.” Raven picked up her pace. “But, yeah, he’s…around.”  
They caught up with the boys as they approached the river banks and searched for a good place to cross. It was here that Jasper had been speared, she knew, from the tales told around the camp fire.   
“Hold up.” Bellamy called out – searching the bank on the other side with an alertness she’d learned to not ignore. “We’ve got company.”  
He ducked behind the thick trunk of a tree and gestured quickly for the others to follow his lead. Raven knelt behind a nursing log, her fingers tangled in the mossy surface as she peered over the edge.  
Two figures approached, walking companionly close. She caught sight of a familiar grey beanie hat and felt absurdly embarrassed by the lump it brought to her throat. Standing up, all fear forgotten, she called out. “Miller?”  
A grin stretched across his good-looking-and-he-knows-it face. “Admit it, you missed me, zero-g girl.”  
“What is it with you guys and nicknames?” she laughed.  
“They’re cute.” Miller grinned. “Kind of like you and me, huh?”  
Raven rolled her eyes. “It’s ‘you and I.”  
“So you finally admit there’s a you and I?” Miller grinned even broader, if that was possible.  
She ignored him and looked to Roan, who stood at his side smiling out at them. Looks like the two of them had worked on that budding friendship successfully, who would have thought?  
“What happened to the others?” she asked.  
“Anya had business to take care of.” Roan said.  
That didn’t sound ominous at all. Bellamy looked none too pleased by that response too, but she supposed they all had bigger fish to fry.  
“There’s a decent place to cross up here.” Roan gestured for them to follow.  
They walked a little ways down the banks until it narrowed considerably, and large stones jutted up providing sloped steps, if you didn’t mind taking a few slippery leaps.  
“Careful.” Miller called out as she started to follow the ever-daring Murphy across. “I like your face the way it is.”  
Raven shot him a mock venomous look and concentrated on not taking a sure-to-be-freezing dip in the flowing water. Her feet slid a few times, but the adventures they’d had of late had improved her balance and strength, and really it was no problem.  
She made it all the way across, grasping both Miller and Roan’s hands as they offered help for the last leap. Miller gave her hand a squeeze as she settled on the bank and moved out of the way, lingering like he was going to keep on holding it, but let go to help Abby and then Bellamy as they joined them.  
Abby immediately eyed up Roan’s primitive appearance and his obvious familiarity with the delinquents. “Are you Lincoln?”  
Murphy choked back a laugh. “He wishes.”  
“No.” he replied. “I am Roan, Prince of Azgeda.”  
Abby nodded, seeming both mystified and satisfied. Raven hoped her satisfaction wasn’t because he had the outward appearance of being savage and she was glad he wasn’t her daughter’s lover. If that was the case, she’d be severely disappointed once she got an eyeful of the real Lincoln.   
“This way.” Roan called over his shoulder as he strode off into the forest.   
Miller set off at his side, followed by the others, then came to a dead stop. “Wait. I almost forgot.”   
Pivoting, he strode back to Raven, and without giving her so much as a millisecond to ask what was wrong, he pulled her towards him, one arm wrapping around her waist and the other sliding up her back so his hands could dig into her hair. And he kissed her. Just like that.

Clarke

Clarke endured a dinner fraught with annoyances. She was annoyed with the self-satisfied smirk on President Wallace’s face as he welcomed them both to the head table like honoured guests, sending her a conspiratorial wink as she took her seat. Annoyed with the constant attentions of Finn – the small touches he kept giving her, the overtly solicitous nature of everything he did, from pulling out her chair to filling her plate with food she didn’t want to eat. She was annoyed with the unconcerned laughter and chatter of the forty kids who thought they’d got it made – eating cake, smoothing hands over fresh, colourful clothes. Annoyed with the residents of Mount Weather, who ate their meal with little concern for waste, leaving unwanted leftovers on their plates at whim.  
Annoying, but a fruitful dinner nonetheless. There was a triumphant air about the security personnel, and the higher ups, but it had meant their guard was low. That perfectly suited Clarke.  
When people began drifting away from the dining hall and convening in the mess room, she gave an internal sigh of relief. Her skin was crawling, like a thousand ants were making a home out of her.   
“I’m exhausted.” She said, dropping her head into her palms. “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.”  
“Please excuse me.” She added to the table at large, and received nothing but understanding nods and smiles.  
“More than reasonable.” Finn soothed a hand down her back and she stiffened in disgust. “Let me escort you back to the dorm.”  
There was a time for picking your battles, and this wasn’t one of them. She’d much rather be left to make her way back alone, but that might draw suspicions and she wanted Finn relaxed – confident in his delusions. She wanted all eyes somewhere else for a change, and short of causing some kind of distraction, she needed to appear cooperative.  
“Please.” She said.  
They rose, and she allowed him to take her elbow and guide her away. There was little she could do about Finn’s touchy-feeliness without drawing attention, even if the very thought of another man touching her made her want to wretch – the fact it was someone as twisted as Finn, someone she had once thought she loved, made it all the harder.  
“Tomorrow, I’ll give you the grand tour.” Finn was saying, and she tuned back in to make a humming noise of assent. “You’re going to love the art stores.”  
“Sounds great.” She said.  
When they reached her allocated bedside in the communal sleeping area filled with bunk beds, Clarke looked down at a wooden box placed conspicuously on the centre of the blanket.  
“What’s this?” she asked, reaching to open it.  
“A gift from President Wallace.” Finn grinned proudly. “He knows how much you love to draw and wanted you to feel at home.”  
Clarke looked down at the neat tubes of paint, perfect sticks of charcoal and kaleidoscope of smudging pastels. In another lifetime, this would have made her cry with joy.  
“That was kind of him.” She closed the case and moved it to the floor, sliding it under her mattress.  
Finn was watching her when she looked up. “I’ll leave you to your rest.”  
She smiled to offset what she was sure was disappointment in her lack-lustre reaction to the thoughtfulness. “I’ll feel better in the morning, I’m just so tired right now, and my arm throbs.”  
Finn leant forward, holding her uninjured forearm, and kissed her cheek. Internally, she stabbed him in the gut and kneed him in the balls. Soon, Clarke, she told herself. Play possum.  
“Good night.” He said. “Sweet dreams.”  
“Night.” Clarke turned her back on him, and without stopping to change into more appropriate sleepwear, slipped her shoes off and slid under the covers.  
When she heard the door swing closed, she waited, closing her eyes and counting silently to a hundred. Then two hundred. Then three hundred. The door opened and closed quietly again, and she knew he was really gone.  
She opened her eyes and flipped onto her back. A quick glance towards the door showed her an empty dorm room. She kicked off the covers and reached for the folded paper in her pocket.  
President Wallace had taken great pride in seating her next to his son, Cage, head of their security. Cage had been easy to work – a little careful flirtation (careful because Finn sat on her other side) and he was sprouting off all kinds of useful information. In the short period of time with which she spoke to him, he’d gloatingly shown her some of the books lining the walls of the dining hall, specifically those placed behind them – including one on the history behind Mount Weather. Ripping away the map at the back had been a steal – turning the forced socialisation both convenient and insightful.   
She spread it out over her blanket now, smoothing out the creases. Things might have changed in the intervening years, but it would remain at its core the same.  
She ran her fingers over the etchings of each floor – studying the layout of the living spaces, the common areas, the school and hydro farming/power, but more importantly, the areas off limits. Security – the president’s family suite - medical supplies – ‘common storage’. Common storage her ass. It was the space right next to medical, and she knew exactly what they used it to store. Bodies for their sick experiments in the name of science. It was one of two ‘common storage’ areas, and she was betting the other one was her target.  
She hadn’t seen Diana, nor her soldiers, nor even Dax, since the drop ship. Though Finn had obviously been catching up with the latter. But there was only so many places that many people could be kept out of sight down here.  
Studying the layout of the ventilation system, Clarke figured out her route and folded the map back away for safe keeping. She figured the vents had worked for her the first time around, there was no reason they couldn’t this time. Plus, they meant less chances of Finn picking up his latest hobby and watching for her through the camera system.  
She stuffed pillows under the blanket in an approximate shape of a body – an old method, but an effective one – and pulled away the closest vent cover. She curiously peered in the hollow metal tubing – these were smaller passageways, and it would be a tight fit, but she’d make it.  
Clarke crawled in backwards, pulling the vent firmly closed behind her, then shimmied her way towards the nearest intersection so she could finagle a turn-around and face forward once more. She followed the tunnels for several hundred yards, making switchbacks to get to the required floor whilst avoiding highly populated areas. The only noises she made were the faint rustling of her clothing as she bellied through one tunnel after another.  
At one point she banged her injured forearm and yelped aloud at a most inopportune time, directly above one of the communal bathrooms doing a busy trade in night-time bathing rituals. One curious little girl, up far too late for her age as far as Clarke was concerned, stared directly at the vent with a fascinated look. Thankfully, her impatient mother ushered her away and she was in the clear again.  
Clarke knew she had found the right place when she heard the crying, and a chill swept over her, making all the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. It wasn’t so much the fact that someone was crying – I mean, she could literally find someone who’d had a cry that day around every corner, she did cohabitate with a bunch of hormonal teenagers after all – it was the realisation that it wasn’t just one person, but several people - multiple grown men, sounding desperate and tortured and more than a little like they were dying.

Lincoln

They ran and ran until their calves burned like acid filled their veins not blood, and his quads quivered with the strain. Sweat ran in rivulets down his back, and his breaths sawed in and out like an spluttering engine. Octavia wasn’t faring much better – exhausted from whatever treatment she’d received at the hands of the mountain men, he’d had to prop her up on their frequent rests more times than he could count. But still they kept running. The more they ran, the more he began to feel like himself again. Like a fog was clearing, swept away by the fresh air. He’d had that thought before, hadn’t he?  
Unfortunately, the clearer his mind became, the more he berated himself about leaving Clarke behind. He hadn’t been any good to her in his intoxicated state, he knew it down to the depths of his soul, but still, it was a bitter pill to swallow.  
He’d always known she was strong and capable, it was one of the things that had made him fall in love with her. And he knew she didn’t need a white knight. But it was bred in his bone to be a warrior, a protector of his people – and he’d made her his people, hadn’t he? More so than anyone else at this stage.  
“It’s no good.” Octavia panted. She leant against a tree and let her head flop down pathetically. “I’ve got to stop, I can’t even feel my feet anymore.”  
“We can rest when we’ve found shelter.” Lincoln told her. It was true dark now, and he knew they were too exhausted to carry on much longer. They needed fire, and somewhere to sleep, and the faint luminescence of the forest wasn’t enough for them to clearly see their way anyhow.  
“We haven’t even heard a sound of pursuit for ages.” Octavia complained.  
“That doesn’t mean we’re not being followed.”  
Octavia flopped onto the ground at his feet. “Five minutes.”  
Lincoln looked back the way they’d come and straightened. “We don’t have five minutes.”  
“We totally have five minutes.” Octavia said.  
“No.” Lincoln pulled her to her feet and turned her around. “We don’t.”  
Octavia snorted, but it lacked amusement. “Acid fog? Are you fucking kidding me?”  
“We’ve got to get out of the open.” Lincoln started towards a large outcrop of lichen covered rocks he’d just noticed – they almost blended in with the forest floor, forming a sort of hilly mound. Octavia found her second wind – or was it third wind? – and stumbled after him.  
They were in luck. He circled around and found a small opening between the base of two rocks, likely the product of some animal’s frantic digging for a food source or burrow, had resulted in a cave in. Through the hole he could see a deep cavern of space, likely connected to the tunnels rampant in this area.  
He turned to look at Octavia. “They’re trying to force us underground, put us directly in the path of reapers.”  
“Shit.” She replied, glancing behind at the approaching fog. He knew it was eerie in the daylight, but at night it was downright ghostly as it crawled its way towards them, tendrils sweeping out like arms to caress everything in its path. “But we don’t have any choice.”  
“No.” Lincoln shook his head in the affirmative. “We don’t.”  
Octavia wasted no time in scrambling down onto all fours and pushing herself face first through the opening. Lincoln followed, only pausing to gather rocks to block up the gap behind them. It wouldn’t do any good to leave holes in their shelter like a sieve.   
“Now what?” Octavia asked. It was near pitch black, and the whites of her eyes seemed to glow out at him from the nothingness.  
“This way.” He clasped her hand and drew her with him to the North. It was the same direction they’d been travelling in before, and he calculated that with a bit of luck on their side they’d soon reach a safe place to lie in wait and continue on their journey in the morning.  
“You know.” Octavia said in a husky whisper. “In another lifetime, we’d have made a pretty good team.”  
“That we would.” He grinned into the darkness. Too bad his mind was all tied up with a certain blonde, Octavia didn’t stand a chance.  
He was wrong about the safe place. This time no one could blame his drug addled brain for wanting to get back to Clarke instead of escape. Fire burst to life along the tunnel walls, connected by some sort of gasoline soaked fabric strips knotted and roped along the sides.  
“Reapers.” Lincoln hissed. Though he worried this sort of behaviour was a little too sophisticated for the reapers he had known. He had almost become one, though, hadn’t he? Maybe it was time to reassess some of the things he’d always taken as truth.  
He flattened himself against the wall and quieted his breathing to better hear someone before they approached. Some muffled footsteps and quietly spoken words, but nothing too alarming, nothing too close.  
He’d just decided to keep going, cautiously pulling away from the wall and tilting his head for Octavia to follow, when a series of arrows flew past them, just a hairs breadth away. Reapers didn't use arrows.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed my loves!


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